"You read like an addict,"
everyone tells me.
1… 2… 3… 4 books a day.
I pop pages while my generation pops pills,
while my sister gets high,
while everyone I know suppresses the pain.
But I'm no different.
I substitute the needles for pages and the drugs for words.
I inject my brain with poisonous substances.
Substances with names like magic, hope, and love.
Words that have lost both meaning and substance
in a world that values looks, fame, and selfishness.
I ride out highs that no one else understands
and when the panic and despair set in
I overdose.
Worlds of fantasy and intrigue collide in my brain
Endorphins rush; blood pumps into my hollow, forgotten places.
The real world fades if only for a moment.
But when the high fades, I crash like a wave
into a life with no real meaning and a melancholy aftertaste.
But it'll all be better soon,
I'm already looking for my next hit.