There Was A Time

By: Carmen Cooper

I am beginning to think that happy endings are a myth. 

Writers are liars. 

So I think that makes me a liar too.

But the problem is sometimes I tell the truth, and when I do I lie to myself. 

I tell myself it is just poetry, just a novel, a short story it has nothing to do with you.

I can lay out all my lies on the paper.

All my doubts on the hand made parchment.

But I am a liar.

So even when I do that, even the little small bits of pieces stick to me like glue.

It only peels off a little.

But the mess I made, the majority of the glue stains and acrylic paint won't wash off.

I dip my hands in soapy water with moisturizing lotion because if I don't use the moisturizer my hands will dry out.

And that wouldn't be too comfortable.

But I haven't felt comfortable in such a long time.

It has been such a long time.

I saw you, what you think.

Is that all?

Because maybe you are right.

That is all I am,

I heard you yelling down the hall at me, 

I am the villain in this story. 

I am the tragic hero.

My mistakes will be my end, my own demise. 

The final chapter in the story.

My story, that I won't finish.

I am so lazy, and I am trying not to give in, or quit but...

But..

But..  

Nevermind, it doesn't seem worth the time.