Published by

Maria Mocha

Each crinkle decays my sense
I have no balance
My mind is gone
I am a ball
Rolled up and set aside
Limbic system disappeared
I’m a repeat button.
Crumple.
Uncrumple.
Wrinkle.
Smoothen.
Caress.
Flatten.
Fold slightly.
Tidy.
Whose hands are these?
Who is obsessing over paper?
Dare I ask
Myself why
Can’t I control my urge
To crumble.
Squeeze.
Release.