The Addict

Sitting by the bedside table,

A light shines upon the pages

He writes words, barely able,

He talks about his cages.

He’s being dramatic,

He’s still at it,

Screaming with his pen,

This boy, barely ten.

He sits addicted to the words he writes,

Like an escape late in the night,

He longs for the coffin case,

The feel of deaths warm embrace.

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