The Epilogue

Words lost by mandate
but never completely gone,
hovering like smudged ghosts
quietly yearning to be freed
in knowing that they will never be read
existing a low-key existence
indecipherable
Their remembrance and reality forever grafted

on to little scraggly rolls of skins
formerly sweet and rosy, tenderly pink, and fragrantly fresh
Perhaps still so on the inside but
currently tattooed muddy colors from the mistakes of people's paper tongues

Rubber never decomposes.
People seem to forget that.
I learned it in the 1st grade when I accidentally swallowed my bubblegum.
And remembered it today as I was cleaning my desk. Wipe as you will, vacuum until you're blue
but the poor little devils must co-exist with
the rest of us.

Unanswered Questions....
Where do they all end up anyways?
What were their black scars meant (or not meant) to say?
and

Why
in the world
would anyone write poems about eraser shavings?