The collector did as any he does;
Displayed his collection proudly,
Though no eyes but his ever would see,
This fascination which came to be.
His collection defined him,
He was what it was.
He stored up his treasures,
And kept them free of dust.
But what once brought him joy,
Now brought affliction,
His hobby now an addiction.
Once so proudly displayed,
His collection now left in disarray.
Life consumed began to fade,
Until one morning he did not wake,
Surrounded by his own mistake.