Smell the fresh, white pages.
Feel the stories waiting to be carved out.
Let's free them together.
Put the old book on the shelf.
Let it sit there,
For that's it's place now.
Its pages are full, you have filled it with stories.
Now let's place it behind and look forward.
Put the colours down,
Make the pen scratches,
Brush the pencil softly.
Try and again.
Until perfection is attained.
Grow, grow, move and feel.
The pages of my skin feel your every move.
It's your choice,
Make me what you want.
I'll be your creation forever.
Can you live with that?
