I used to be able to hold words in my hands

I sewed them together like a tapestry

Could’ve carved out Aphrodite with them actually

A sculpture, both figure and verse

Testament to love

Now all my words come out sounding so rehearsed

And yet, all in a rush

Tripping and shoving

With no rhythm at all

Racing to see just how fast they can fall

Van gough to stick figure

The words fall like sand through my fingers

There are cracks in the glass

Beauty that won’t last

The paint has chipped away and the clay starts to crumble,

Where once stood a masterpiece there is now only rubble.