….
We’ve left our stamps
and coins
and dead butterfly wings
by the side of the road
………………..for dead.
We’ve no more room
for pages
and pages
and pages
of scraps, framed
and frozen moments
…………………..spent.
We’re bent and broken
and barely breathing,
leaving only to map
our own hearts. We’re
weaving ourselves into
brighter blankets,
fluttered papers
collecting scars.
…
..
Quickly prompted.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
Ooh, I really like the closing:
“We’re
weaving ourselves into
brighter blankets,
fluttered papers
collecting scars.”
WOW
How sad when lives have no time for hobbies. I’m guessing a death or some other sort of tragedy has occurred. This is a sad one for me – but of course, well done!