I rest silently in the bin, staring
vapidly at my tormentor from within.
But I still hold its discarded words -
a raw garland of emotions -
close to my soul - crumpl'd, defunct; yearning it'd
alliterate them with notion,
passion and poetic lust.
An unfinished verse - my epitaph.
Ratan ...
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crumpled/
