Feeble

This whole thing is a mess.
Exaggerated beyond repair,
Mountain out of a mole hill,
Tears over spilt milk.
I hate what it has become.
Damaging my binding,
shaking the life from my pages,
ripping my soul apart.
When I cut one head off,
it grows another,
until there are many more than I can deal with.

don't let yourself become like me.