As you grabbed me from the shelf one fateful day
Commenting on my spectacular, albeit morose, cover art
You immediately were interested
Flipping through my pages
Fascinated by my unintelligible contents
Seemingly written in their own language
And took me home, determined to figure me out.
From the get go, you were different.
Most spend a few minutes attempting to crack the code
Then return me, no longer interested.
You, on the other hand, did not give up.
Your diligence caught my attention
And I decided that it was time.
I blessed you with my delicate contents
Decoding what you previously could not understand
And opened myself to your seemingly great intentions
Delighted by your apparent interest in me.
The only problem was
You weren’t delicate.
Or truly interested.
You were selfish.
Blazing through my pages
Not out of genuine interest
But to find comfort in our shared pain
Offering half-hearted advice and sympathy
While damaging my pages further as you read on
Looking to improve yourself through my mistakes
With no regard or care for me.
When you reached the end
You left me in worse condition than before
Then found a new story that piqued your interest,
Placed me on the shelf you found me,
And left me at the mercy of the next careless soul to open me
And further destroy what once was so pure.