A Carbon Inclination
Crisp, Carbon, Paper.
Every letter a mark of will.
Cross the t's and dot the i's,
Each marking taught to save.
It's like a breath of fresh air.
Putting pen to parchment,
Or finger to keyboard;
As is common now a days.
The truth of each word,
Punctuating each sentence.
Even as they are all lies,
For fiction, is imagination.
I live, I love, it's my own escape.
Each life within a page.
A world of magic, or set beyond time,
The fabric of creation.
Why live in a world,
Called Reality;
When it's a place of torture.
Of rape, torment, and abuse.
Are we not mortal? A piece of man?
To each his own realm, to gain release.
Each word screams a story,
That is my own, though try not to tell.
Each letter as slick as brandy,
I have class, my own brand of heroin.
The pressures of life; mortar block,
To build a castle of pages:
A book of Deliverance.
Yet soon its grip changes,
Once sweet and gentle,
Now steely, and a vice of consternation.
Remember that time?
When it was neither gift or curse,
Just talent, or so they say.
Think back, addiction to start it all.
Crisp, Carbon, Paper.
Every letter a mark of will.
Cross the t's and dot the i's,
Each marking taught to save.
What happens once we realize?
Castles can fall.
Walls can break.
As the sheets of carbon come tumbling down.
Every letter a mark of will.
Cross the t's and dot the i's,
Each marking taught to save.
It's like a breath of fresh air.
Putting pen to parchment,
Or finger to keyboard;
As is common now a days.
The truth of each word,
Punctuating each sentence.
Even as they are all lies,
For fiction, is imagination.
I live, I love, it's my own escape.
Each life within a page.
A world of magic, or set beyond time,
The fabric of creation.
Why live in a world,
Called Reality;
When it's a place of torture.
Of rape, torment, and abuse.
Are we not mortal? A piece of man?
To each his own realm, to gain release.
Each word screams a story,
That is my own, though try not to tell.
Each letter as slick as brandy,
I have class, my own brand of heroin.
The pressures of life; mortar block,
To build a castle of pages:
A book of Deliverance.
Yet soon its grip changes,
Once sweet and gentle,
Now steely, and a vice of consternation.
Remember that time?
When it was neither gift or curse,
Just talent, or so they say.
Think back, addiction to start it all.
Crisp, Carbon, Paper.
Every letter a mark of will.
Cross the t's and dot the i's,
Each marking taught to save.
What happens once we realize?
Castles can fall.
Walls can break.
As the sheets of carbon come tumbling down.