The darkest, most heart-wrenching poems are the ones I cannot help reading every night. Strange as it sounds, they bring me some satisfaction. And before you tell me that I’d have to be sick to find true joy in such raw and honest pain, you’re right. But let me explain. The emotional tides that cover me when I breathe those words in….they wash me clean. They remind me that I’m not the only one who has been this empty. I’m not the only one who has lost the only thing that ever mattered. It somehow becomes possible to breathe again knowing someone else’s ribs ache just as tremendously. It’s absolutely stunning to come to these terms. The resplendent moment of realization…. the quiet camaraderie born out of a poem. I’m addicted to everyone else’s pain. That is my sickness.