Eraser Debris – Osharlequin

I wrote a love letter once,
Language coated in honey,
And red wine,
Words to be crafted into a paper plane,
And sent soaring to her heart,

Baring my soul,
Each word a passionate kiss,
Every line a bite of the lip,
A love story in graphite,
Soon to be an obituary,

Doubt clouts me from behind,
A lesion shaped like a broken heart,
The page laughs at me,
Mocking my naivete,
The eraser calls,

I excise them in a flurry,
Each syllable becoming a dismal mess,
The words become a distant regret,
Merely a trace of a love,
Retired to a waste bin of reluctance,

The feelings are now simply eraser debris,
And are brushed aside.

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Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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