I can’t sleep in my own bed
no one to tell me a good night
so I crash out on my couch instead
weeks now with the tv on quiet
You were the author, I never saw
the outline locked in a bedroom drawer
they say write then ending, then work backwards
how long ago did you write our never-after?
My heart is like a broken book
pages ripped out clean
and I’ve been dying to know the end
but I can’t find the final chapter
and you never answer.
Who ever heard of such a tale
try again, that one will never sell
go to work, try to sleep, ’til you hit your limit
but if you wouldn’t buy it why do I have to live it?
Hell of a plot hole, where did the hope go?
Tell me what moral should I learn?
‘Cause right now I don’t see any heroes
and I kind of want to see everyone burn.
My heart is like a broken book
pages ripped out clean
and I’ve been dying to know the end
but I can’t find the final chapter
and you never answer.
Text to page
page to book
book to hand
hand to floor
floor to cart
cart to hand
hand to shelf
with all the others
with all the others
Where is this shelved, in the back with the self help?
Right behind all of the fairy tales.
Lost behind bad art, one more broken heart
half off in the Christmas sales.
My heart is like a broken book
pages ripped out clean
and I’ve been dying to know the end
but I should know the final chapter
even if you never answer.
– © Heather Aubrey Lloyd