Can I do something else.?

Running away from writing

Running away from reading.

I think,

It is this thicket of books

That brings about all this emptiness

All this walk on a road not taken.

If I can be killed now,

Let it be now.

Let I go with the darkness

And when morning comes,

Let my smiles be no more.

Let my voice be in tatters

Let my words be scattered.

Perhaps I should throw away all the books in my shelf and glue my eyes on the television, believe and do whatever it tells me.

Perhaps I should burn all the books and inhale all the smoke, till I get drunk and die. Perhaps and only perhaps.

Am everything.

Am nothing.

Why? why....?

Why books became, become my only friends

We talk

Do all things with each other

But now am..,.

I can't ell anything.