So fragile my paper heart must be,
With every rip and tear my pain bleed right through,
Burning to the thought of you.
Every word wrote crumples it and throws it away while others rescue it.
Your pencil is in hand,
While my heart is waiting for the next knock off the desk.
The ink in which you’ve placed before is smeared by my salt streaked tears.
And yet my paper heart always floats back to you.
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shelby's journal
eh tis journal is for my thoughts of the world, the people around me, and the places i have been. i will write peoms and possible short stories here. so have fun reading and i hope you enjoy...jeez this sounds soo lame
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