A Poem Whisperer
At first glance, it was harmless martyrdom,
just words on a screen, right?
After all, there were copies,
hard copies, with real attachment.
Funny, how quickly I realized,
they were fundamental, those “words”,
no matter the attempts at segregation,
or whatever mantra I discovered.
Foundation, a building without it
can only topple, and is nothing more
than a mess of girders and blueprints.
Such selfish implosion.
I destroyed them, like a toddler
dissatisfied with his tower of blocks.
I felt them bleed underneath my thumb,
right as I hit “delete”.
I split that timeline in two,
and my self-labelled moniker
could no longer call nostalgia, priority,
when its patina had washed away.
Sounds crazy, huh?
A poem whisperer, ha, go with that,
and say it in a mocking tone,
they’re only words, right?