Paper Trails.

Evidence scattering minds like paper trails,

littering the carefully constructed streets of consciousness.

Hyperboles and well meaning metaphors strung together,

with a carefully constructed thoughtlessness.

Ink stained fingers; a semi-permanent reminder

of love's departure and bad form.

We sip tea with the skeletons in our closets

and love like we never have before.

Strangers' words aren't really competition,

only a coveted chance to escape our own clouded view.

Only to reluctantly find relief in the fact

that someone is (unbelievably) as disturbed as you.

We leave behind broken hearts and coffee stains,

complimented by the haunting exhaustion

that seeps out of numb, sleeping hands,

and throws our voices into the void without caution.

Paper trails for paper thoughts,

what's next, God only knows.

The only damning evidence,

exists in poetry, and Prose.