I sort through
days
and years
written on pages.
the same things
written over and over
just in different prose.
a feeling of lost.
love and hatred
mix together
causing nights of madness
the evidence of them
still on my skin
hiding from the outside world
fading more and more
each day.
but the reminders
always remain.
written in black ink
that ran down into
the crease of the notebook
because of uncountable tears.
some words written in blood..
in a crude illegible way
but the emotions
show through the stains
years spent
bouncing
from one notebook
to another
its time
to settle into just
one leather bound
collection of blank pages.

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