I used to be an open book,
My pages worn and warped
Familiar stains from countless acts of clumsiness
My story was ready to leap off its surface
My words malleable and colorful  
For anyone who'd ask in hope
To find out how to read me

But this copy got old
Pages ripped and deteriorated
Too tired to pounce at the opportunity to share
It was time to move on

I am different now
Same story, but from a different author,
Writing my insides
My pages are thick and my spine is firm
My story is simple and dull

I'm hard to open
I'm hard to read
I'm easy to put down