He flung the pages up into the sky,
like ashes in the wind.
The stories he told were all nothing but dreams.
Reality to him was like a closed book
His mind swallowed him in, leaving him as dead as a fish on a hook.
Living behind pages that sometimes looked like cages.
He had nothing to his name, all but wasted fame.
Story after story.
He couldn’t put pen to paper to write his own story.
One day he got sucked up by one of his stories.
The story of the man who left without saying goodbye…
Purple Empaths 