Someone said,

“Books are a hard-bound drug

with no danger of over-dose.”

Lies.

I am an addict.

I have clutched my paper-bound

or hard-bound drug until

my hands are frozen claws,

I have lost hours of my life

in the blink of an eye,

I opened the cover for

just a few pages before bed,

and blinked up at the dawn light

as the birds mocked outside my window.

I turn pages until my eyes

can not focus,

my lids rasp close,

my arms tremble,

my fingers numb,

my neck kinked,

but still I read on, until

my eyes

close.

I stagger in a stupor

to my bed.

When I am lost to consciousness,

my dreams are vivid,

I wake with an aching head,

the morning after.

I am a book addict.

I know over-dosing

is a danger,

but

the paper smells so good,

the rustle of the pages

is music,

the story is magic,

and I am helpless in

its thrall.

That’s all.

My name is Shawn,

and I am addicted to books.