Object Writing – Book

I’m your book now.
At a moment in time

I was a book waiting to be opened 
Your starry eyes, wandering for a journey

Your eager hands, stumbled onto my story
You made the book yours

You embraced it with warmth 

You made the story yours 

You filled it with life
But then you let go of the cover

Only holding on to the pages 

And when you left it hanging

You ripped your pages out
There were papercuts

Honestly stabs to my heart 

The pain, unbearable

My soul, scathed and scarred
You kept them with you 

They walked the streets with you 

They stayed in your hand 

They made their mark in the sand 
And when you came back

You brought these pages too 

As if, all this time

They were to be added anew
But the book knew

All along

The book itself, where the shreds lay

Were where the new pages belonged
You didn’t stop the bleeding

But you gave the book blood

A dying love, revived

No more, the agonising flood
You know this book 

It’s full of hell

But oh, the stories of heaven 

Too, it can tell
The book is yours to love 

Yours to shred

Yours to drown 

Yours to breathe 
This book is me. 

And I’m your book all over again. 


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