4-25-16
I've got a few hours and the words inside a dictionary,
Oh they're calling my name,
Begging to take me to another world with words foreign to my uneducated train of thought.
So I flipped the page the very first time and was addicted.

I'm a prisoner to these fantasies.
The words create alternate universes,
And it's one hell of a train ride out.

Maybe it's me doing the creating,
Because I started to feel you in these sweet holy pages of definitions,
Defining everything but my head.
You told me there's never a word messy enough for ultimate destruction.
You didn't know it at the time but you were talking to me, talking about me.

I started to panic the second I realized I'm injecting my life into the false realities I held so closely all those nights.
The fucked up thing is it's just like me to fuck this up.

Nowadays, I'm disconnected from everything,
These safety shelters of ink included.
Isolation, my old friend,
How have you been?

The thing is,
I've given this disaster of my own self destruction a new life.
I've learned to create again.
I've learned to find oxygen within myself.
So come around again,
My imaginary friends and stories and plotlines.
This kind of not-real is easier to handle.
- (m.m)