A scroll unravels revealing a spill of words on its paper,
Ink runs and pools excitedly. Thoughts now left for later.
How they form a deep dark stain on my fine red carpet.
Reaching for their absent author, but sure to miss the target.
Whispering out for their the forgetful scribe to come return.
But the scroll will not be revised. Simply left to twist and turn.
When it does, it cries, and time ticks by, for the receiver.
A messy draft. An un(der)achiever.
𝄞
♫ \"just don\'t hang your hopes on me\" ♫