Twisted stories of pain

I used to have a little book
a little book filled with secrets
of my deepest and darkest desires
the little book filled with secrets about my deepest and darkest desires held the key, to unlock my misery

My misery was one of a kind, especially in my mind
My pain was like no other, it didnt include, a mother, a brother or a lover
It held pictures of my pain, twisted stories of fame
They were little secrets that I used to write, wallowing in my misery every night

The secret little book, filled with my deepest, darkest desires, which held pictures of my pain and twisted stories of fame was one of a kind,
Because it told people a story
The story of my life.

And those pages which held pictures of pain, with a written side of misery and fame
only consisted of thoughts about you..