Unnecessary

My memories are like pages,
Torn, old and crumbling,
With stains and smudges from the past,
Some torn out and missing.

Part of a forgotten book,
Tossed in a corner to fade away,
Most of its leaves unwanted,
Ripped out and thrown away.

Its words disappear each time the page is turned,
Its spine unravels just a bit more,
Becoming more fragile each time when relived,
Dissolving into dust, leaving my heart sore.

Fingerprints of people long gone,
Lay imprinted, embossed and engraved,
Both irremovable and unforgettable,
The bitter memories they made.

When i die, this book shall burn with my soul,
Yet some of my pages may survive in another,
Perhaps edited, even replaced,
Or maybe i just wasn't worth the tedious bother.