Introducing the end to the editor, rejected and retold. A story.

This is,
a song of sorts,
a sad end,
to a new beginning.
A new rhythm,
a new beat,
a breath taken to sing the next note.

Stop.
Play it over in my mind.
And when I'm done,
you'll hear me over and over,
unable to clear your mind,
lose yourself.
Find me.
This isn't a mystery,
it's just you setting yourself free.
Why is that so hard?
Don't you hear these tunes ringing in your head,
even if I'm not here to say them to you?

Stop.
Get out of my mind.
You're changing the game.
Playing my like a fool by my own rules,
I'd rather crawl back to love than to
be a stranger in my own books, to my own mind.

This is,
an old tune.
There are no such things as new beginnings.
Creativity is dead.
So are you.