The story,
imprinted like carved stone.

I've seen this in eyes at school,
in reflected minds,
the symptoms,
the wrongness,
the drowning deaths,
so delicate like bird-bones.

I know all the phrases off by heart,
all the warning signs,
the hair that grows like fields of grass,
the concave skull, the carved out eyes,
the numbers, ticking on and on.

Just because I've read the book doesn't mean I can't stop myself.

I still want to be the protagonist,
and it hurts,
it will hurt more,
but I'm a ****** for making problems
to solve
and I can't quite swallow
how long it'll take to bounce
when I hit the ground
running.