Novel Poem by April Avalon

This open book without an ending
Is everything my life reminds of.
You, shallow souls, were just pretending -
You're out of touch, I'm out of mind now.

I was a slave of my devotion,
A pillow for your worthless tears,
And you just played with my emotions,
Then in a moment disappeared.

I gave you all my heart to treasure -
You marked it with your foonprints, dirty.
But it's your loss that can't be measured,
And nevermore your lies will hurt me!

The novel's waiting for your ending,
Fresh rumors - what is more exciting?
I'll laugh at you and keep pretending
I can't make out your handwriting.