Open book

I am such an open book, some times I don’t even have to tell it. I let my people tell it for me.
I let their words write my story as I follow up to there expectations. I give them what they want as I throw myself around trying to become what I no longer know. I have a fear of being alone I know. I know I hate the dark, and my thoughts scare me.
Ik what I am doing is not okay. Where I am going is not where I want to be. But I don’t know who I am or how I got here. I don’t know my author and I don’t know my title. Whos to say I am even a book at all? Maybe I am just some timeless magazine.