I can feel it reaching for me.
The book on the desk of my neighbor,
The book in the hands of a peer.
The books staring out through the library window;
The books that all beckon, “Come here!”

I can feel it reaching for me.
An invisible finger of letters,
Undulating chains made of words;
A subtle dark vortex that’s pulling,
A siren song all but unheard.

I can feel it reaching for me.
And I need it to live any longer,
And I need it before I go mad.
I need to inhale the sweet paper scent
And feel a book’s weight in my hand.

I can feel it reaching for me.
Oh, how I long to devour it,
Like a vampire longing to feed.
There’s no way to stop once I’ve started
But it’s got me and now—I must read!