Misinterpreted Story

I’m the misinterpreted story

In the winter newspaper

Perverted by the press

Distorted by the reader

I’m the depressing one

That no on really wants to hear

That you feel sorry for

And then forget, ignore

Because I’m not your problem


I’m the discarded story

Littering the floor

Not important enough to keep

Too much both to pick up

I’m the one quietly watching you

Blissfully ignorant of my crying

Watching you in frustration

While you wake, eat and sleep

Without my nightmares


I’m the scrunched up story

Slowly covered by snow

Blocking my view of normal life

Loosing shape and colour

I’m the one disintegrating

Wanting to go unnoticed

But always frightened

Of the loneliness and cold

Numbing camouflage


I’m the hidden story

In the depth of storm

Freezing up and suffocating

Loosing sense and strength

I’m the one pleased to be lost

Giving reason for no attention

Wishing to wither away

With no feeling or redemption

Rather than be uncovered and thrown away


I’m the corroded story

Beyond reading or repair

As the rain beats down on me

Uncovered and blurred

I’m the one blowing aimlessly

In the hissing wind

Not knowing where I’ll land

Or what’ll come of me

With no self control


I’m the old misinterpreted story

Scared of next weeks newspaper