Books and utopia

 Books mold you, they said,

But why no one told me how they haunt you? How do you stay up all night shaking and trembling? The characters die but their ghost outlive them all. They continue to grow, They grow inside you, Roots breeding through your lungs, Flowers blooming in your belly, Until you can't breathe anymore, And just before you choke to death They come with a dose of serotonin To you move to the haze. The haze where everything is alright Was this the place they talked about? It aches, But what is pleasure if not the sweetness of pain Right? I have lived enough, Is it enough of a reason to die? My mother warned me about it, But then why is she holding me tight, Saying it all will be alright? Then maybe this is not the place they were talking about. I was told not to run too far, So I dug a grave and jumped into it, Then why is no one planting hyacinth over it?