A note lies on a wooden desk,
Its words conveying a coward’s half baked decision.
It was once clean and blank
But this changed, as all things do.
First was ink, forming a needlessly long message.
With this, came the tears, dripping at random.
The upset scrawling accidentally rips the note...
A pen thrown down, blotting the paper and words.
And lastly, more ink, but it’s from a different well.
Aug.7.2019. I remember writing this with two possibilities at mind, either a breakup note, or a suicide note. I feel bad for the paper...