a dusty book left on a shelf
only to be forgotten is the only
thing i can compare myself to.
how do you find happiness
when the only thing you find
yourself surrounded by is just
a collection of the saddest novels.
i'm the last dead flower in a
once vibrant garden,
will i ever be watered?

i'm wilted, unwanted and have
not a single feeling of worth.
what's my purpose, i'm bleak,
bleary eyed and left to decay.
the ending to this story has yet
to be finished, but for now
i remain bookmarked waiting
for her to open me once more.

*i want to be your favorite book, i want
to be the story you won't forget