There is no version that I
love
Some versions are better
than others
Most are annoyingly plain
I pretend they’re bearable
Like water to moisten a dry
piece of bread
The book is sad
Telling a story with no
direction
No hope, no beauty
A few failed attempts at a
happy trail
But the pages are all I have
They say nothing of
interest
Yet I find solace in the emptiness
of their words
A small rush as my
fingertips brush against each page
Searching for something to
entertain
The song between the noises
I don’t care about the
ending
Expecting change is an
illusion
I just want to see the
final page
I just want the story to
end
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