You left me behind. I'm worn out and used. I am crumpled and forgotten. I sit at the base of a can, waiting. It is as if I am invisible, but I am not. I am kicked around, and I collect dirt in every tiny apparent crevice. I am seen momentarily, where I am picked up, and read. I hear laughter and feel myself being tossed to another. Those loops swirl about me like the leaves in the wind on a warm summer's day. When they were written, I felt the passion behind the pen. The words are simple and complicated: I love you. I'm stared at briefly, and in that occasion, even I believed. Oh fictitious realities! Instead, I listened to the sigh, and I felt myself being ripped into tiny shreds. I felt myself separate as I float down onto the cold, rigid ground. I am assaulted one last time, and left scattered. I'm left behind, naked and bruised. I lay and littered the earth with false covenants.
You arrive late, and fell to your knees. There was nothing left of me. My words were gone.