Some days,
The world feels
Like sandpaper
Scratching my soul

Roughing it up
Wearing it down
Creating tender spots
That desire darkness
And warmth
To recover

My surfaces
Get scratched away
Along with the
Wonder I carried
With me
Just yesterday

I wince
At the touch
And the sound
Of the hustle

I slink back

I withdraw

From
Sandpaper
Scrapes
On my heart

My passions
Are tempered –

No you can’t write
Or read
Or paint
Or sing
Right now

Maybe later

But when later comes
There’s no more energy
Or desire
To create
That fire, snuffed out
By obligations

These are

The

Silent
Stolen
Songs
Written
In sandpaper
On my
Soul