Notebook, scrapbook
Somehow I’ve misplaced you
You were a scratch on a paper, ink and a voice
Not meant to look back at me
The something or someone played a joke
Put on a twisted show
And there we were
I remember just listening, looking up to a fantasy
‘Til the day it was right in front of me
Now [bad word]  now it looks like table scraps and nothing else
It kills me to think about all the things
I threw around while hiding
My nature is and always has been that of a pill-bug
When someone gets too close
I now can see how you saw me when I couldn’t see myself
But there we were
 [bad word] 

I don’t think that I really wanted any of it
But before I could understand anything that was happening
So quickly, the bottle, the squinting
I could not undo the knots of an undeveloped mouth
On the way back from the island, the turbulence hinted at no end
All I got, I barely saw
Now I’ve finally tied it up with no regrets
But I remember…
 [bad word] 

Now it looks like table scraps
All that’s left are table scraps
All that’s left are table scraps
Table scraps and nothing else