Spirals

I shuffled through the files. The text documents and the images. Searchign for things I knew weren't there. Creating discs to remember that old life by. And deleting shadows from this one.

Paper is no longer a savior. My thoughts supplanted. They chase in the shadow of reality. A breath from oblivion.

No more spiral notebooks filled with tiny print. Just typefaces. Neither bold nor italic. Zeroes and ones all that is left of language.

If it's not real anymore how can I ever be again?

If the ink only imagines. And the words just pretend. Burning the images, but losing the discs.

Scribbling in invisible inks. Pages that come and go. Nothing is real. No one is touchable anymore.

I need to turn the page, but there isn't one.

I need to fill the skin, but all the bones are broken.

No more notebooks. Spiral bound. No more pens. Black with. Just pages that don't turn. And all those cahpters before. Filled with.