I am an addicted reader,
With a desire for a specific writer.
Loving his words of wisdom,
To sooth my intoxicating boredom,
He inspires me with his words,
Like I'm entering a parallel world.
When I feel like I'm pressured,
He gives me stories that keep me assured,
When I feel like I'm in distraught,
He guides me in clearing my thoughts.
When I'm lost,
He helps me at any cost,
When I want to die,
He tells me it's okay to cry.
I am drugged with his word,
Like anything I see is blurred,
I am drunk with his thought,
Like being able to see light.
But now he is gone,
Like a person who left in dawn,
I am now all alone,
Scared of this life of my own.
I don't have the words that will help me,
I only have these thoughts that will kill me,
There are no stories and poems to read,
Only monsters in my head to feed.
I am now reminiscing,
For my santuary that is now missing,
My home in this universe,
Is now lost in a broken verse.
I realized that I am the writer all along,
Writing and reading to keep me strong,
To give me hope like my favorite song,
But as always, I am wrong.
I became an unknown author,
Because writing saves me from my monster,
Like the last ray of hope,
Before you hang yourself with a rope.
I did escape my demons for awhile,
And managed to fake a smile,
But my smile faded,
And my sad side was sighted.
I cannot write anymore even if I swore,
To find a cure in this poison in my core,
I am too ill to heal,
This disease that will kill.
My last ray of hope is gone,
And my life is done.