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Paper People
May 29, 2018
I watch you unfold
beneath the yellow moonlight
on the fifth of March,
like a paper mâché skeleton
all wrapped up in olive skin—
I watch but
I don’t say a word—
careful, quiet
silence in E Major
as you fall apart
in slow motion,
and I miss you
already,
with each layer that you shed
on your way to being nothing
but a pile of shreds,
and I wonder why
you do this to yourself
over and over again
but I guess it’s just part
of being paper
© Tabatha B., Peoria, IL
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