The world is a scary place
My fingers itch to reach for the pages
Of bliss
Of a heaven underestimated
I crave the worlds that take me out of mine
And I yearn to be there
Every waking moment
Of every single day
I know
That between the pages of a book
Amongst friends written from paper and ink
I am home
They will always welcome me with open arms
And love
I miss them so
And itch to visit them
And spend time with them
My world is unjust
And cruel
Let me open a book
And never be found again
YOU ARE READING
365
Non-FictionI had this idea last night after a few drinks, a pounding headache, and an excessive amount of throat lozenges. In order to inspire me to write more often than I currently do, I am planning to write a new post every day and publish it, allowing me t...
