Slips

I tore off little pieces of my soul,

and wrote them on napkins, gum wrappers, and shitty hotel stationary.

I gave them to you, little bits at a time, for safe keeping,

because I wanted you to have them, I thought you needed them.

I gave them away, all of them.

I don't know if you kept them.

You never asked for them, and you never gave me any words back.

I thought if I gave you enough, if you had the only parts of me worth having,

that I would be enough. That the little papers, tattered though they were, had words that were pretty enough to make your heart sing. That you would sing for me.

It's so silent here, and I've run out of paper,

there's no ink, and I cannot write.

So my soul has withered, and I've forgotten all my words.