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Literature Text
Bookworm
Books in a haphazard pile
adorn the bedroom of my life.
I pick up a book
at random,
and it's you.
You, who stole my
keys. You, who
entered my life
through the keyhole of my
soul. I haven't touched
this book since
the day you broke
in. It was too raw,
too fresh, like
a fish in a frying pan.
And now, I start a
fire. The fireplace reaches
Fahrenheit 451 as I burn
your memory.
But I am never truly rid of you.
Your scent stains the rest
of the library, bleeding through the pages
of each book I touch. I will never
be rid of you.
Will it be as hard for you
to get rid of me?
Books in a haphazard pile
adorn the bedroom of my life.
I pick up a book
at random,
and it's you.
You, who stole my
keys. You, who
entered my life
through the keyhole of my
soul. I haven't touched
this book since
the day you broke
in. It was too raw,
too fresh, like
a fish in a frying pan.
And now, I start a
fire. The fireplace reaches
Fahrenheit 451 as I burn
your memory.
But I am never truly rid of you.
Your scent stains the rest
of the library, bleeding through the pages
of each book I touch. I will never
be rid of you.
Will it be as hard for you
to get rid of me?
A poem that I wrote in my creative writing class. I'm pretty proud of it.
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