I Stop Reading

the imagery is there story line as blah as wallpaper paste wallpaper paste that has dripped on the floor been stepped on by a size nine Nike tennis shoe oozing off the bottom of it now I dive in for another peek there must be more the protagonist has to be a hero or a villain we have his name, colors and attitudes nothing stands out; I, the reader, do not know whether to cheer or loathe him the feelings that prance all over most stories are dormant. lying in an old brown suitcase in my mind’s attic uncaring, unconcerned, unmoved by this excuse for a tale I stop reading not wanting to waste one more drop of time