The Book

Every day, I say, every day,
My mind is slowly drifting away.
On this little slip of a page
It’s like being stuck in a cage.
Every time I flick it open,
One single page is always chosen.
It keeps me up all night and day,
Even if all I see is grey.
I know how other people would feel,
Boring, dull and hard to deal.
Just use the dictionary,
If you say: “what is the meaning of ‘starry?’”.
It is always the answer ahead,
Oh, all those words you thread.