My diary bit me last night
It bit my hand then lunged for my throat
So I tore it’s pages to shreds and lit fire
My memories, some not missed, but most will be.

It screamed and cussed as it burst into flames
Thrashed and trashed its outer cover
While still aiming for my throat
I sat back and found another book

As I wrote I promised I’d come back when the flames died
The diary still wearing itself out
Other books said I lie, but my promise I would keep
No matter how scuffed up the cover turned out