Ode to a Sheet of Paper

Once you were pure white. Now no space is clean. There was once no flaw left on your ivory skin. Now it is scarred with raven-black ink. You have been crumbled, scratched, marred with creases. Messy tattoos trace your spine. Ink spills bruise your body. You are the result of the misuse of words. It is not your fault that you have been left in a hollow metal cage for the unwanted.