torn papers spread across my bedsheet
unspoken words now stuck on paper
they move and move along the rhythm
of my body panicking in dark hours

a notebook silently screaming
folded pages were a warning
all kept unkempt for years
read for days and underable for tears

pleasuring the pain
of tearing fragile away
the washing of the insane
repulsed and yet
it's all in vane
for it will always show
and comfort the paranoia
but no one else will know
words of young injury
of drama and agony
and retained inscribed incensed
in the soul of the hurt the memories rest.