I found your poems today
scrawled on jagged pages
I threw them all away
forgotten in an empty journal
creased and yellowed
I found your poems today
full of warped words, I’m your
angle, making you troubles meaning less
scrawled on jagged pages
I could have burned them ceremonially, or
shredded them to bits. I decided they
should just rot, so I threw them all away
Everyday Strange 
I wonder what was in those poems that they must rot? Some words are beautiful, like this poem, others soon forgotten. Love the passion in this!
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Thank you! The poems in question were from an old boyfriend who also wrote a lot of apology notes.
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