better left unsaid

Crumpled.
Like a discarded poem
- As empty verse
Scrawled across
A tarnished page.

Nothing.
Unimportant, undesired;
Invisible?
Creased and torn
- Long forgotten,

Unsaid.
Did I ever really live?
And do these words
Hold meaning
- Unseen, unread?

Unread.
And so, here I lay dying
- Or maybe dead -
Either way
I am silent.

SJL: July, 2003