Myself the book

My eyes are a book, Dying to be read.
Write it down and tell me what they said

My mind is a maze with out an end.
Preoccupied with “how to mend”

I watch each and every stance
To see if there is a chance

My words are hidden in meaning
There’s more than what you are perceiving

My true emotions are hidden well
Hiding every moment where I fell

I am not open like a book,
My story disappears at every look