It pains me to accept the fact that I-
I'll never know a magical land;
Never walk barefoot on the soil which holds a tragic and breathtaking history.
Never be able to walk with a big book in my hand, trying to solve an unsolvable mystery.
Never venture into a forest;
Never bathe in icy torrents.
Never dance in empty halls.
I was a fool to dream at all...
Irresistible, enticing, bewitching are these books;
Makes you scramble like a famished fish swimming to fish hooks.
I enshrine these scriptures high up on my ebony bookshelf;
And like a devoted cultist, I await for their melodic church bells.
Trace every delicate page, never to care about papercuts
I'll take every scrape, every scratch to soak up each word.
Gladdened and enchanted by this magical world;
I never noticed I was lying in a pool of my own blood.
I've learned my lesson, too much of anything is toxic.
The desperation for an escape can make you believe that
the pain is euphoric...
So, I warn you, darling,
Read at your own peril.
For your imagination is a thing which at any time could go feral.
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A/N: this is a bit modified version of the original poem. I hope you liked it.
If anyone is here, thank you so much for reading. I appreciate you.
*virtual hug*
