Words

I see words as

Embossed white letters on a white piece of blank pages

They need a scrap at the surface to release their form of wisdom and beauty

And my words are

Series of mute tongue, dry throat

A thirst for attention

They make splendid stars whenever they were read and interpreted

But my words are

Invincible and destructive

Like the strands of hair on my hands that fall 

whenever I scratch 

whenever I think

My words are and cold rustic

Like the coffee beans on the bottom of my cup after thrice of free refill

It does not appeal

Like how difficult I start and close this poem