You were my Writings Story

I wrote of you without knowing it was you,
for you were my writings story.  
A story never suppose to come true.
Pain lied behind my words but their meanings meant so little,
I would write of heartbreak but mine was only among myself.
You were the one I wrote, you were my mistake.
I fell into your fallen world of deception and temptations,
I lost myself in those days of pointless pleasures and sunken down lather seats.
It was days that replay like a broken record, haunting within my hollow broken body.
Used was a word I avoided for I didn't want it to be my definition,
and now worthless, it's pasted on my forehead like black ink on a white canvas
It's spread all over my face for it's expression is lost behind a bouquet of dying flowers.
I wrote of you, I new without truly knowing, and I let it happen like I didn't remember a word. 
I now lay in my mind and watch the moments take me away bit by bit til I'm back here,
where even am I.