Sweet Serenity
I walk across the torn out pages from incomplete novels resting solemnly on the rough and rocky ground.
Picking up a page, I noticed a single word: "Guilt."
As my sight hit the "t," the broken sheet disintegrated into ash and obliterated back to the universe, where it supposedly belonged.
In a state of uncertainty, I turn to pick up a second torn out page.
Once again, all that lies on the page is a one worded phrase stating, "Aggression."
History repeated itself once more and the page vanished turning to dust.
I replicate the exact same process and the same thing would happen over and over again,
But with a different negative quality each time.
"Greed," on the seventh page.
"Ego," on the fourteenth page.
"Envy," on the twenty-first page.
"Hatred," on the forty-fifth page.
"Dishonesty," on the seventy-ninth page.
I picked up enough paper to craft my own book.
Where are these pieces of paper coming from?
I left behind the ash and debris and several unread pages and began following where each and every one of them came from.
Going against the wind and seeking who has torn pages out of a book has left the energy within me ephemeral,
But I must regain even the slightest bit of spirit and keep my head held high!
In the distance, I see a being with their back facing me as they choose to let pages fly out of their hands and into the world to be forgotten from memory.
They begin to commence to the very end of the book.
I approach the entity as I come to a realization,
It's me.
The book of life titled to my name holds all my deepest and darkest regrets that I cannot come to terms with.
It eats at me everyday,
I'm at constant battle with myself,
The only person stopping me from existing is me and I have only myself to blame.
I watch myself as I tear out the very last individual page to my own book without hesitation and without any desire to stop my actions before the disastrous happens.
I drop my so-called book, the cover to cover is all that is left to be shown,
No beginning,
No middle,
And no end,
Just nothing with a name tied to it.
I have never once tried to live a life without remorse or sorrow,
And now I'll never get to live with the opportunity to take pride and become a symbol of happiness.
I now only exist in the moderate plain field of having to be forced to be at peace with my sins,
Joyfully in pain, crying every tear of how I never got to feel sweet serenity.
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