I no longer read books with you,
those ones whose waters become blue.
When you moved on, it marked a clue.
Your absence grew, your absence grew.
I no longer read evil hearts.
it messes my stops with my starts.
I stopped so mine won’t hold those darts.
Love topped the charts, love topped the charts.
I no longer read dead shadows ,
the ones whose halos are arrows.
Knowledge like this messes egos.
Such have echoes, such have echoes.
On sheets I’ve traveled far and wide
i’ve found no ideal place to hide.
For something still summons inside,
to calm this tide, to calm this tide.
Books have become my misery;
they lie, they mask, they hide from me
things my mind could not clearly see
in therapy, in therapy!
Tonight i close this text to sleep
to bury my misery deep.
No longer will i care to keep
or dare to weep, or dare to weep.
Here sometimes I do find that juice
That flows through every mind’s sluice
I was referred to as a Duce
Fit for all use, fit for all use
In this garden it once flourished
Its way of life it abolished
Since the reader in me was banished
I am famished, I am famished
I perceived this tree lost its roots
At winter its leaves fall and scoot.
And laziness broke its offshoots
Now bear no fruits, now bear no fruits.