Worn down

Used up

Trace those pretty words onto your paper

Let them know you have something to say

Who really cares? Not me.

I'm just a sad victim

Of your insecurities.

Do you love me?

You must

To hold me quite so dearly

When you let your secrets out,

What do you want them to see?

I don't think you really love them.

You love the paper,

Pen,

And me.