THE STRANGERS' PAGES

I got a memoir from a social-phobe,
he had issues way out of control.
His nature was self-disgust,
and preaching diffidence.
The dreams he dreamt never came true,
what was a nightmare was now true.

Always laid in bed with a blade by his side,
just because he’s afraid of night.
The pen at his side wouldn’t go far,
He’d stay up late inscribing his art.
His rib cage was getting big
on being borderline anorexic

Every line read a beast came out,
every page turned a ghost fell out.
The noise around is starting to clear,
but every noise has an image
and that's starting to appear.