Disappearing Into Words

The more words I write, the more consumed I become by words,
Like when the morning disappears with the tick of a clock,
And you're breaking down and wishing for the time to take away everything.
And this isn't very good, I know that much, written with the gun of ink,
And bullets made from drink.
The more words I write, the more consumed I become by words,
It's almost as if we all disappeared into them.
Into them, into them, into them.
It's almost as if we all disappeared into them.
I said, "it's almost as though we all disappeared into them."
No point smiling now. Although we did, when the words consumed us,
And no-one new even knew, it's like they were invisible,
And writing just to fill the gaps, and fill the time,
In the hope they'd be consumed.
The fewer words I write, the more invisible I seem,
It's worth remembering its worth...