The Eight Letters Story

I have a bookshelf in my heart

And ink runs through veins,

I write you into a story

With a typewriter in my mind.

The bookshelf got crowded

With all the stories penned 

The people who brandish my pages 

Closed the book before the end

Finest wrote with a title,

"An arid world".

What books I'm scared to open

Stories of every wound flicked 

Some people have just a sentence 

Some others had the cruel role

Stretched out enormous rows 

Thousands of inky scars

I put it in the corner of my heart

pages are torn at the end

everything fell apart.

So, I rid of those books

wrote something new stories 

where just being who I am 

Now this new beginning for me

give a title

It's called "Reveries".