From ink on the paper to fresh smell of print,
From the touch of paperbacks to the font of ebooks,
From the start of a book to it\'s very epilogue,
It\'s a rare journey of life I want to know to live.
The title, the book cover, the character\'s names,
And personality.
Writer\'s block and way too many hypotheticals.
If I could write poetry, I\'d tell a lot more about
these hardships.
The heartbreak of plotholes,
The joys of a perfect scene,
The confusion of continuation,
The chemistry of the main leads,
I wish I could scream them all into the void.
The song of my genre, my story a puzzle piece.
It\'s a painting with splashes that are too good to be true.
My protagonist wants to be the antagonist,
My side characters a major role,
Do I even control them anymore?
I\'m emotionally attached to the feel of these words,
The way they sing sonnets like free winged birds.
I can\'t stop dreaming of not being alone,
In my own little darling metaverse.
-InsanelyHilarious