For all the chapters keep hidden, there are things that you seem to find so easily,
Yet you could never know the origin story,
For it has been told so many times it has lost details, faded in facades of secrets,
But my secrets could never be more than that,
They have grown roots so deep even the water cannot reach them,
And the branches have soared passed the leafs and towards the sky,
Where they will be secured in the stars and their legends.
Yet, for all the thrills and tears, you have found the calm in my storm,
The story’s cover falls apart under your touch and melts into your hands,
Secrets kept for so long trickling out, each more profound than the last.
Each chapter of the book holds a new meaning to the term page-turner,
Moments read like divine intervention, powerful enough to collapse her spine,
Each turn of the page dives deeper into the mystery,
Like fallen words and spilled canvases, the ink falls into the paper,
Images and fragments spaced out, gracing the words with meaning and insight.
The images of my dreams are broken and haunting,
Waiting to be thought of and written into words,
Where they will tell you just how twisted my mind has become.
What if the words on my tongue are only meant to be spoken in my dreams?
The thoughts falling in between my heart and mind to be written in strange tongues,
For tales of the heart are far more true when written into poetry and songs,
Becoming tales of the broken hearts and newfound lovers.
So how does it feel to be the warden on my heart?
Will you be able to hold onto the cell that rattles and shakes under pressure?
Or perhaps, you will use my rapture as means for your own tale,
With stories of the deranged, falling victim to your spell-bounding poetry,
To entice those who come after, turning them to lyrics and poems.
Either way, the thoughts remain stained in the books gathering dust on the shelves,
As the feelings of my mind and thoughts of my soul blur together,
Each wondering if the words written cast an illusion too powerful to escape