Burn the Book


I tried to make it mine,

but I dropped it from a height.

Watched it hit the ground,

expecting a loud, crashing sound.

What I got was not a mark,

being of resilient heart.

I realized that I had grown

far too used to letting go.


Break it and escape.

no responsible takes.

Just me and my taste

for self-induced tragedy.

Destruction comes,

destruction goes.

Destruction stokes the ego,

until I am seeing

a wasteland

that doesn’t have to be.


We enter cycles

of life and death,

but death needs to be

a new creation.

I lay my head to rest

thinking reality

of my imagination.

No proof,

no test,

other than

honestly seeing

the situation.

I wake amongst

my broken past;

a broken present

my only indication.


How low

does it have to go,

and do I really have to drag

everyone with me?

Reality crumbles on its own.

Why am I

helping it along

so quickly?

Is this self-pity?

Is this the way

to open my eyes

to what needs to be?


I’m not going to lie.

I’m not going to hide.

I’m going to live

with what I do in life.

Only closing the page

when I am done.

Not trying to burn the book

and be alone.


it’s not right

to live that way.

It’s not just my time,


I hear a voice say,

“Don’t be afraid.

Everything will be okay.”



HG – 2022

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