Teardrops fall
and stain the pages.

The pages of a story.
My life.
Where the salty taste is so familiar.

Those fallen tears
burning into those cuts.
So deep.

With each new page
and each new line
the pain repeats.

Friends,
family,
boys.
It's the same.
Just pain.

The tears continue to crash down.
The difference?
They're no longer mine now.

Wet page.
Ink stain.
You now read the story of my pain.

Last pages.
Without a happy end.
No longer tears,
but drops of blood shed.