I am alone.
I have many different sides, for those who have the patience.
My lies can beguile and yet my truths can rile.
Those that see me, don't understand me or pretend to.
Those that understand may see me again but less each time, until I am cast aside completely.
I become a memory- a name when mentioned receives an "I remember" or "I loved.."
And now I lie, blotchy, pale and yellowing, paralyzed.
It will be years before the pain exits my spine and even then my sleep will not be blissful, for my heart has always been torn piece by piece over time.
Someday if I am seen again, they will try to make me whole.
And each time I fade a little more for they once gazed at me with intrigue, with love, and now in the depths of their eyes, I see only pity.
What am I?
A book.
-Mango
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About Me
- Mango E
- Trying to show a way to see the world through words.
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