Dearest Peter,

The end was closer than ever before
Just a hint more of internal turmoil and I may crumble
Tonight I didn’t want to exist. 
It’s not that I wanted to die, I just didn’t want this particular life
I wished for my only presence to be alive in ink letters, for the dusty pages to become my source of oxygen, to be the character in story of a finer setting.
Somehow misplaced I fell right off the page into the crease
Frantically, I turn the pages in search for Neverland
And ever so gently I traced each word with my fingertips.
Captivated by the fire of adventure, I ran away, chasing freedom
Maybe it’s because my heart is so broken, but I can’t help dreaming of a place far from here
Empty people often immerse themselves with temporary escapes
Consider me a vacant soul, It seems I’m doing the same.