by Ryan Mendenhall

Almost childlike I instinctively reach for a book.
I take it and the thought of possessing it sooooths me…

“MINE!”

comes the voice of that energy.
I want, I need and soon I have
a bright, shinny book, with only mild thought of price.

They contain answers.
They are my medicine.
In them I find respite and in them I can stop the pain of personal experience.

I know this and just the thought, not even the reading of it, calms me when I hunger.

On my shelf now.

Mine.

The book is my medicine.