He was invited to a house party in his honour.
He figured he should go. The house was like a mansion.
It belonged to a Doctor.
He was an award-winning poet.

The back-slapping and handshaking
Seemed never ending
But he was used to this sort of thing.
It was not his first nor would it be his last.

Many guests were wielding his latest book.
He knew by how they spoke if they had read it or not.
All they wanted was an autograph
And a photo with him.

He always dressed in black
And wore Ray Ban sunglasses
To cover his Valium-affected eyes.
He suffered from an anxiety disorder.

Nobody picked it
Except his closest friends that he told.
It was the best kept secret in the industry.
Everybody thought he was cool.

He liked to keep it that way
As anxiety feeds on anxiety.
Were he to let it get it the better of him
He would not be able to write.