I was going to write some
Raw truth
Alas the backspace overpowered
And my ugly truth
That I fail to accept
was erased
It is a fun game
That this keyboard
This black ink on this temporary white screen
Can so easily disappear
Can so quickly be erased
Without a single trace of it
And I pity this page
My page
That can so easily be erased
By this electronic eraser
That clears my ugly truth
That I can never seem to...
***And ****
You will never know the words I was going to say
For they were just erased
And deleted
From this electronic white page
By my electronic eraser
That distorts my ugly truth
That....
****
It's like a magic trick
This thing
You'll never know my final stanza because
Of my contemplative fingers
That too easily erase.
**** **** ****
The writers' fingers go
They race
I can hear those backspace buttons ringing through the air
Of this dead, echoing night
Erasing their thoughts
Because of
hesitation
Doubt
Contemplation
The worry that they won't care
About that last line you were itching to write
Tell me
Do you hear them
Loud and clear
In the drumming air
**** **** ****
The writers' words
That will
Infinitely
Be
erased.
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 3:43 AM UTC
I was going to write some
Raw truth
Alas the backspace overpowered
And my ugly truth
That I fail to accept
was erased
It is a fun game
That this keyboard
This black ink on this temporary white screen
Can so easily disappear
Can so quickly be erased
Without a single trace of it
And I pity this page
My page
That can so easily be erased
By this electronic eraser
That clears my ugly truth
That I can never seem to...
***And ****
You will never know the words I was going to say
For they were just erased
And deleted
From this electronic white page
By my electronic eraser
That distorts my ugly truth
That....
****
It's like a magic trick
This thing
You'll never know my final stanza because
Of my contemplative fingers
That too easily erase.
**** **** ****
The writers' fingers go
They race
I can hear those backspace buttons ringing through the air
Of this dead, echoing night
Erasing their thoughts
Because of
hesitation
Doubt
Contemplation
The worry that they won't care
About that last line you were itching to write
Tell me
Do you hear them
Loud and clear
In the drumming air
**** **** ****
The writers' words
That will
Infinitely
Be
erased.
