The history of my heart is written in rhymes.
The flow and meter of good and bad times,
All contained within the pages of a book,
Very few will ever earn a look.

My deepest secrets set in ink,
The blue lined page my only shrink.
My sins are masked hyberbole,
What they are, I'll never say.

When I have a space to fill,
Or the need to record my newest ****,
I begin again upon new page,
My alter ego, the sinning sage.

When I bear your transgressions,
I write them down as your confessions,
I rhyme the ways that you have wronged me,
Predicting what you will never be.

When my heart is under fire,
Or when it screams a new desire,
It all goes down in neat, narrow scrawl,
More impatient and vengeful than King Saul.

Whatever I feel, whatever I think,
It all goes down in this black, shiny ink.
Mind to pen to paper without delay,
I truly know no other way.

The story of my life is written in rhymes.
Pages filled with rephrased crimes.
Trapped between covers of a book,
The place where few shall ever look.