It's the Book of Your Life

She was a loner, and always had been.

but that was okay, because her books kept her sane

All the fictions of all the universe,

all the imaginations of all and every mind:

the life she lived, it was hers alone,

they were hers, and that world was sacred.

She found new people, the people were nice,

just like her, but not like her.

All the fictions of all the universe,

all the imaginations of all and every mind;

Every fantasy to race in her consciousness,

every dream to dream in tranquility:

the life she lived, it was hers alone,

they were hers, and that world was invaded.

The people were cool, they showed her the "fun" life,

the life they lived, but it came at a price, at the cost of her lives.

All the fictions of all the universe,

all the imaginations of all and every mind;

Every fantasy to race in her consciousness,

every dream to dream in tranquility;

These words were her feedstock, alighting the embers within,

These pages her bloodline, deciding her fate:

the life she lived, it was hers alone,

they were hers, and that world was destroyed.

That world she had, she had shared with no soul,

but suddenly, in a heartbeat, a turn of the page,

her soul was taken, the pages ripped from her spine,

words cascaded, falling in droplets,

blood, her blood, was spilt:

only a shell, a fragmented memory of the beautiful mind of the girl remained.

Until one day, when the memories broke like an avalanche, engulfing her, caging her, breaking her.

and the blood she spilt now was from the three slits at her wrist,

three slices, and her world, her only lifeline, ruptured, flatlined, and

cut out into oblivion.

And the audience reveled in it all.