White, pure, empty I havent need before

Sometime, someplace there will be use for him

How often he begs to be something more

Of some use, of some purpose, of ones some

He watches me, silent distant stalker

Hes hanging, dangling, swaying in the trees

Sometimes he lurks in my cold damp locker

Billowing outside freely in the breeze

I need him, the cleansing, washing feeling

Its depressing when he runs out on me

I call more, the dark my voice is stealing

Used up he feels replaced somewhat empty

He whisks to somewhere is worse or better

Its my old and dirty toilet paper