A Life is a sheet of paper
it starts out blank, fresh, and pure.
As time goes on the paper fills with streaks of ink.
The lines crossed out are the hurtful words revoked but not entirely pardoned by apologies.
The lines unfinished are the chances that were never taken
The lines too faint are the impassionate, half-hearted endeavors.
The lines filled with holes are the attempts to erase and rewrite the past.
The lines blotched and spotted from bleeding ink are times when no progress was made, thinning and weakening the paper.

A life is a sheet paper
all the scratches and tears and splotches, imperfections in some eyes, are what make this tale,
And each and every mark together creates a captivating pattern.
Each to it's own

A life is a sheet of paper
Each story written in a little different script.
Every mark a thought.
Every word a speech .
Every line a deed.
All overlapping and filling up the page.
Marks smothering other marks
Words smothering other words
lines smothering other lines

A life is a sheet of paper
one day the paper cannot hold another drop.
It is old, wrinkled, brittle, and bent,
Full of death-black ink.
A life is a sheet of paper
There is no way to appreciate every mark,
unless you have written it.