torn and replaced

My white lies in lines
torn to pieces in your hands
leave a whole hole in my mind
where I’ve wasted words
The memory of the way blue and red
dances on a poster
cannot climax again
now that life’s moved on,
and only you know
how beautiful
those words could have been.
But to fill in that hole with emptiness
I keep the cycle going
Each loss of love a new birth
Each falling a new death
Each day a new belief
can trickle in.
With the scattered pieces
my leaden body curls up,
A corner between tile and ceramic
becomes a far away sanctuary
worth the pilgrimage.
If I crouch there
shake and shiver
with my face all wet
and my pen dripping
the ink of my pain
pouring on paper
in vain
may become something beautiful.
But Words written and lost cannot be replaced
once that sheet is pulled up over our heads
to drown out the music.