I bought a second book to write between the pages.

Sometimes I make corrections
On words that are only wrong to me
Sometimes I try to write the wrongs
That nobody else can see.

Sometimes I tear the pages out
And scatter them in the fire
Sometimes I try to rewrite those words
Late at night untill I tire.

Sometimes my dust cover slips away
And my hardback seen beneath.
With brused wet edges torn away
Like a wolf that shows its teeth.

I do not want the world to see
scribbles, drawn in many stages
So I bought myself a second book.
To write between the pages.