I'm a catastrophic book.
Accumulating particles of dust and dirt,
My author neglected me a while ago,
Concealed me in a shelf- high up.
Nobody may ever read me again.
My pages fractured.
Sentenced left obscure.
Oblivious words scattered carelessly across the pages.
Stains of ink ooze onto me.
Each chapter bleeds with sorrow.
My blurb deluded and fallacious.
The pictures you see
Are small fragments of scars and tears.
Finger prints left on every page.
From readers who've betrayed me
My spine gradually deteriorating.
So please be gentle,
whilst reading me
After all I'm simply a calamitous book.
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