Page 94

: Goodbye:

My book has been binded
The inner lining has been defined
My words are underlined
Bolded and no longer limited
Sublimity is the crime
This is my free-write:

I have edited my story
I have crossed out your name
You have been diminished by my eraser
I am no longer feeling pain

Streams of my affection used to fall from my eyes
The embrace of your words were nothing but a lie
Natural; without cure
I’ve been waiting for an ending

I cannot flip back
I have reached the last page
It’s time for a change
My pages will no longer be influenced by you

This empty space
This recycled paper
This paper you had once used to write “that other girl’ a letter
Don’t you remember?
Of course not
Because I’m obviously “over-reacting”

This book of mine
No longer leads an aromatic pathway
It has been smothered with reality
Suffocated in many ways

Picture this imagery:
I lay in this wilderness of imperfection
My cover is disguised
Yet everyone wants to see
The thread that has entailed my every detail

It is mine-My life!
Not some fabricated story to rave about
Yet these people make it seem as if I am magnetic
And you are pulled in
And you are no better than the rest of them
You are hooked on false realities
And you wouldn’t know real unless it was the name of a drink
Or some girl that you want to do next week

To conclude my thoughts on this last page
I’m throwing it away
The thoughts of you
The feelings you instilled
All summed up on this flimsy sheet of paper
I’m ripping you up in many pieces
You are not recyclable
This will not happen again
Because this is the end.