Book

Book

I once said that my life was an unfinished book,

Full of the adventures and risks I took.

Now I feel as if it's closing to an end,

Full of things and feeling that I cannot mend.

It's not the end of a chapter

Nor does it end in happy ever after.

It's the end of the book itself,

Destined to sit and collect dust on a shelf.

I can no longer write my life,

It's now full of miseries and strife.

I hope you know you have a part,

Be it a page, chapter, or chart.

I'll see if I get any more inspiration,

Or if the wrong things are in my imagination.

I get the feeling, an overwhelming sensation

That this is all just an act of desperation.