This Story Is Mine.

I am writing a book

where you exist in pages,

ones I want to tear off

incinerate, erase it,

take chapters that mention you

find the will to write replacements,

but I won’t.

I won’t, because

this story is mine,

you’re a half-written character

and I, ran out of time,

and though the pain

of plotting your course

is gray and unrelenting,

I’ll let you stay the same because

this story is mine;

and you aren’t enough to change

the ending.