I feel like the literary world
Is turning against me.
Words were my aloe
Comforted me
Let my bad aura out.
Instead, they infuriated me.
I went to that
Sacred house of books
The calming station.
I thought I was safe
It had me
Made me better.
Then it too failed me.
Tricked me into passivity
And caused me pain.
The pain of lost hope is greater than the pain of irrational anger.

I think words are forming an army against me
And I can't fight that.