Poetry
Without a Stain
A poem in one of those stages
Published in
2 min readSep 6, 2024
A mouthful of words
Spilled on clean paper
Leaving no stain
Failure is their purpose
They can’t even fade
They never began
Gray blue clouds
See gently
Little spasms
Sleep nonetheless
Awake is not the aroma
That square
Furry soft
Warmth
Just what soothes
These stupid words
Love and goodbye
I can’t stub them out
The paper won’t smudge
Yet my fingers
Scorched
Crusted with ash and scars
How can it sear
Yet
No blemish
I am alone in a park
His park
A roll of bags in my pocket
They say they are biodegradable
I don’t believe them
