Book.

Turning the page,
It’s the start to the book.
The start to my life,
The start that you took.
Why is it hard,
To rip out those pages?
To begin a new book,
One that remains nameless?
Going nowhere,
Fighting with the bind,
Smudging the words,
Something to find.
Going through the mistakes,
Ones not edited out,
But now printed in ink,
We can’t turn around.