by Ali Stone
Words, perfect words so sweet at first.
Like a ripe cherry, when bit, would burst.
Every turned page a twist, a turn.
These words, this chat, takes on an ugly churn.
What once felt soft like butter.
Feels now, like a sharpened glass cutter.
These words, this chat, that tears your swollen heart.
Like a paper shredder, you come apart.
Now a thousand shredded tattered words.
Lay upon the dirty and dusty floor.
Such a scattered tattered mess that cuts you to your core.
Now there is nothing left to say.
These words, this chat, now swept away.