Pieces of Paper

Pieces of paper, the air is thick of those
like when snowfall enslaves the ground once again
at the same time placing its birth mistakes into oblivion
Pieces of paper, eaten from the edges
and corroded unread by gazes
who could find about this puzzle of Mad Hatter
so that also I could see what to do next
what to say, what to confess
and what should I lie about until it's like brand new

Rags of paper, filled with poems
but the rhymes are all broken, I guess this is what you call postmodern
and I can't figure out the meter
as much as I would like you to understand too,
I can't reveal the emotions
that I wasted, used on those words
You leave me to wander as well
into this rain, to catch what I can
and to stop the entropy

Shreds of paper, torn away
so they'd be destroyed without further damage
Words possess a terrible might, but there's no other way
to show what's inside

Pieces of paper, so small and broken
but their weight is greater than sins
Show me yours
and I'll uncover what I possibly can
Will this turn out to be a bestseller after all
instead of radioactive explosion of cliches