I found the paper folded brown edges
In a box that i thought held old pictures
Evidence that i was too lazy to die young
Pinched into the spaces
Where the memories get clouded by the sadness
And abuse

I found the paper and i hadn’t thought about you
In ten years except for when I’m drinking
And the edges seemed as fragile as your hands
Covered the last time i held them
For the best interest
of all persons involved

I found the paper smelled like cigarettes
Patchouli cedar dust and winter breath

The words themselves didn’t hurt my heart
But the fact that i forgot
Their composition


-Stephen M Crow
10/6 in this style

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