it consumes me,
biting through me, inside to out,
though the feeling doesn't belong to me
but to this other unknown

It's like a play
A show
A film
A performance
That there is on
The scenes
And behind
The scenes
Yet on is my front
And how I seem to be
While behind
Is what I really feel

you are my oath, an unbreakable promise
you are my vow, my justification of it
you are my swear, my powerful phrase

so much like the paper, it crumples
it remains untouched but has been molested
trying to close itself up, until you came and
tore open the stitches and shed the
protection
so much like the paper, it falls
leaning on the words of another to live
their inscribed marks upon its open skin
scars not marks, wounds not scars,
because the wounds have not
closed yet