Eerily I scratch away
at my A4 pad
with my large black gritty marker.
Its full, pricking, seizing odour:
vomit and nail-varnish remover.
Words.
Phrases.
Each one down solid and straight
despite my haste.
This at least must be done
right.
Love.
Adore.
‘To have and to hold’.
Pictures of hands held,
of lips met,
Of valentines cards
and roses and
a sense of reassurance.
Finally finished,
A 176 page scrapbook of love,
I tear off each sheet
gently and with care
and feed it lovingly,
scratch that….precisely,
into the flames and watch as they
turn and crumple
and blacken and fly off.
I have needed to set my love free
for so long now.
And so it is:
Free to the sky and the birds
and to the fields and the waves
and to each one of you.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
Makes me want to pull out all of the heartache and wreackage from past relationships and feed them to the fire…slowly…hehe…
I liked this.
uh…wreckage, you know what I mean 😉
I think so.
It’s sort of like a cross between
wreckage and wreaking.
The slow seeping stink of it.
🙂
I feel like I’ve done that.
It’s quite a release.
Destruction as a means of spreading… very interesting concept here, and a nice imagery-rich piece.
Thank you for this little gem. Not unlike my own feelings when I’ve finished a song. I often want to throw it away.
Thanks, again.