I used to be pristine and handled with care
A lovable book for the world to share
As my story went on
The east times would soon be gone
Battles and bruises over the years
Wrinkled and stained from countless tears
Creases of natural ware and tear
Nothing too hard to bare
But one day I was ripped
As my control was stripped
Pages blank with fear
The story started to disappear
Slowly washed away
Too daunting to write or say
I sit faded and mangled on the shelf
Trying to write the story about myself
