MrRieper

Porous, easily crumpled, Never here longer than the flick of a page. Eyes crafted, but given no sight. Skin soft, but without feeling. Hair, nothing but lines of graphite Etched into paper sheets as a stranger sees fit. Hers is a world by design and storyboard; A place where Telos is God, And there are no mistakes that cannot be mended By an eraser. For some, this is all the love they will ever know. You know the kind: Bespectacled, bearded, phospholipid-laced gut peeping from the hem of his shirt. On their Friday nights there is little to do But to curl up on a bed made for one With the story of a paper girl in his hands. Pathetic? To thi