I have so many bits of poems and written word pieces that go unfinished. It seems I start them in scattered bursts of emotion and inspiration, only to leave them by the wayside on scraps of paper and napkins. It doesn't feel right to go back and complete them after the moment in which they were started has passed. Perhaps they hold some sort magic with the way they trail on into infinite unknown. The ending to be imagined.
Though many pieces are personal, I am entertaining the idea of posting these unfinished bits on here. If only to organize and save them from being confused for trash.