My Will

Haunted by my demons that couldn't be returned despite the fact that I kept the receipt

Printed on the frail paper of my yellowed skin

Every scar, every mistake, every insecurity, every memory of you locked away in the depths of my soul collecting dust like old books in a basement

You don't even want to begin to know the secrets I've been keeping

Pressing between the pages

Praying for them to disappear

Yet finding them preserved

No matter how many times you did me wrong it still felt well deserved and I'll tell you now: 

The ending is predictable

And the story isn't great

But if you want, feel free to retrieve the books from my estate