There's a book on floor, not far from the shelf. It was thrown off due to madness. Upon bending back the cover and breaking the spine, the contents was found to be all too familiar. Pages, pages of monotony, pages of pleasure that sadness brings. Pages, of two, one, two, one. And it all ended with you, the final chapter. The girl wears a mask to disguise what she really feels. Fake words and jousts for the public, blank stares and silence for you. See through the sea-colored class. See through the fog figurative hallucinogens have brought about. The edges of the pages are blood red from paper cuts. The words are blurry because they were left out in the rain. Your chapter was open, your mouth stays closed, and I'm thinking these pages were all such a waste. She killed trees for you, dreamed dreams for you, put up with sleeping with you. And now it's all been put to rest. Getting what you want isn't all that fun. You were only a plan that got out of hand. It started that night you brushed by. Picture, conversation, idea, and then the rest. Put to rest. Forever and ever. Amen.