You made me wonder,

Why I have a life at all,

Why I shouldn't die,

When so many are already dead.

I've read the book of life,

My pages are ripped and torn,

As if they shouldn't be there at all

And yet I still live.

I want to meet the author of my life,

So I can show him the scars on my arms,

So I can tell him of the wars between myself I've had

So he'll really know of what he was writing

I've read the book of life,

Funny how much time it takes to read,

Compared with how long it took to happen

And how long it took to write.

I want to meet the author of my life,

So that I can shoot him,

So that he can know how it feels,

To hurt, the way I did.

I've read the book of life,

One word after another,

And I wonder,

Why anyone would write something so horrible.

I want to meet the author of my life,

So he can know how much I need to thank him,

So he can know that I'm so blessed to have him as an author,

Because I've read the book of life,

And mine is the longest, well-thought, unpredictable adventure of them all.

I've read the book of life,

And I want to read it again,

To feel it again,

Because everything is so believable,

It happened to me.

I want to meet the author of my life,

So I can write a book of him.