As I walk to the mail box
In the late evening I see
That it’s the  twilight
hour!  I look up to
See the new moon
But only to see that
It was eclipsed  
How do you like those
Apples

When I think of the book box
I think if not just material
Items.  But things that give you
Joy and happiness as well as
Intelligence.    To be honest
When I crack open the fruits of
This box!  I see that I am smiling
As I am learning
And being happy
Visit one of these box’s one day
I swear you won’t regret it

And as I tumble through the pages
Of my favorite books,
I fantasize of a better place;
Of a life that isn’t mine;
One where I am courageous
And strong
And unbreakable.
I fantasize of a place
Where I am the heroine
Instead of the villain
In my own story.
I fantasize of this place
And pray for that world to swallow me whole

Together,
I thought it was forever.
There I was having a serious ponder.
On where I'll end up regardless of whatever.

Like a shattered glass house,
My whole heart scattered.
Remembering that heart aching December,
Tears flow down in embers.
You left without warning,
And I was left sulking.

The shiniest star up high,
Is the only picture I have of you.
How? Why?
I never knew.
But still I'm forced to carry on,
With a life I didn't bargain for.

You swayed,
She stayed.
I felt weight swept off my shoulder pad,
Till one thought,
Fueled her reason to be fed up,
With both of us hooked up.

Well, it's fine.
She deserves to taste wine.
I let her,
Or more like; she let her.
With no consideration at all,
Of how I'll feel by it all.

Now, I'm alone,
The word itself is me.
And the only thing that keeps me going,
Is; "If he were here,
How far will I be from this five cruel wording"

It was my first indulgent,
Not quite my requirement.
I did it anyways, even though my heart parted ways.
I got used to it,
I got obsessed and addicted.
I outgrowed and declined every form of forced agreement.
It didn't end there,
For I explored,
More than godess or god.
I didn't have a care in the world,
Of how I'll look,
If they found out about my world.

I'm innocent,
Or maybe I'm not.
I blame this, I blame that, I blame them,
But the fact is I carried on.
They were unable to bring me back,
For I myself had formed a pack.
I finally found my switch,
A hard switch; hard to press,
But it was there.

Now there is no turning back for me,
For the thought of written words,
Is what unlocks my secret door.
The pace was far,
The race was sour.
And today I say,
I guess I have to put up with this aching sensation,
Due to my Obsession and Addiction

Books, oh so wonderful to read
Words apon words
Stories within stories
History lays within each page
Unfolding to the next text
Each page a beautiful mix of literature
Pages wielding the sword of suprise
Never knowing how the story will unfold
Every twist and turn of circumstances
Has me twirling my hair in suspense
Drawing me close to the end of each test
To flip the page to the next

Last night,
I hugged my favourite book as I went to sleep.
"What an odd thing to do"
my mind said,
But I've never felt so close to myself,
as I did,
that late night.

"The fountainhead" the cover read
as it lay right next to me, on my bed.

When your heart races,
Rushing out of a dream,
And words leave spaces
And lines in between,
Where your heart heals
To be shattered again,
Like oceans surreal
Once the reverie ends,
Frantically you strain
To let yourself sink,
With a mind soiled, stained,
And brimming with ink.