sometimes i think of paper
and i ask it a favor
show me what to do
i don't have a clue
a simple piece of paper
more reflective than a mirror
they ask me how i cope
i just show them my notes
paper is my mind
floating over time
jumping between rhymes
sometimes i'd lie
and say that i'm fine
but never to paper
it never says later
always in the now
that's what it's about

When it's fire writing the story,
Papers are ought to get burnt.

'I can read you like a book'

Can you read me like a book?
Because if you can,
I must be written in Latin;
Some long-lost language you do not speak.
Or perhaps -
You are holding upside-down;
The wrong-way-round;
Or back-to-front.

Am I made of paper?
Is my skin a composition of wood-pulp,
Rice, and cotton?
Do you see my history
Running across collar-bones?
My thoughts printed over elbow;
Emotions scrawled upon my stomach?

No.
I have a spine.
Yes.
But that does not make me a novel,
Nor your novelty.
You cannot pick me up from the shelf
For light holiday-reading,
I am not here to excite your imagination;
I am not here for your entertainment.
My life is not fiction;
My future not fact;

So, do not say you can read me like a book,
Because books don’t have lungs or mouths or hands,
Books do not grow with the years they withstand.
But I do and I will.

It was never about trust or promises or destiny, was it?
All you cared about was money, your life, your health, and your lusts.

You threw me away as if I was a crumpled paper,
my words didn't matter to you,
neither did my feelings.

Yet I stayed by your side,
because I thought that I could see a change in you.
I thought I would...
Alas, I only wasted my time and yours,
and also the food I cooked.

I wish I could breathe
Your words are crushing
Stop lying
Saying you were loving me
Some sort of love story
you've thought up in your head.
Darling you just hurt me,
soon I'll be dead.
My lungs are crippling,
crumbling like paper
Little tiny rips
in my skin with sandpaper
breaking me apart
so very slowly
this isn't love
I can tell,
because I'm so lonely.

we sat at a compete
the author knew that
there is a tie or secret
between us or our heart

he ordered to sit in wide
he ordered to tell what i like
to meet and talk and write

we took two parts of papers
she wrote
i wrote
he took
he opened

she wrote my name
i wrote her name

the attendants were so amazed
they cut thier hands for clapping