the poet who ate paper instead of putting it in the garbage
"Ghosts' lips haunt my fingertips which you don't want." Again he crumples this up with much ado and then inserts it into his poetic mouth. The English teacher at the back of the class smiles the smile she's been smiling for twenty-two years, four months, and two days. Someday she'll retire.
"Cataracts compete with clouds of smog to get front row seats in the show of your life. Wants want you." Crumple. Swallow.
But to avoid reading this anymore you dear reader take up the piece of paper that this is written on, crumple it up and swallow.