To This Falling-apart Notebook

When I bought you, I didn’t know what you’d become;
You were slotted for drab budgeting,
The infernal dollar keeping that quickens my heart;
Something about you changed this fate.

You reminded me of the inferno within,
The parts of my that wish to combust in passion;
(Why could I never let my soul be set aflame?)
You called to the old poet in my soul.

Now you’re decaying;
I knew this would be your fate,
You carry a commercial mark that is no longer you.
You’ve shed the business “Minimalism Art” and have become Austin.

One day your casing will be in tatters,
This faux leather and foam wind-bound;
But I will keep you;
I will mind you as writing in you mends my soul.

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