Library Of Life:
My years are within this book
And it may be painful to honestly look
Though this library contains and expands
I can t follow what was never planned
My life is always black and white
But I lose myself in the color of night
I have always been sincere with words
Though my metaphors familiarly curve
I’ve always flipped through these pages
But they suppress with coming ages
These numbered pieces of writing
Are in which I have been endlessly dying
Continuing slowly despite the story
These words within what I worry
I find myself in sorrow
Praying for my last tomorrow
If you dared to enter this library
You’d see my perspective all but dreary
Please open these books and read
The ink is scars in which I bleed