is there a book in you?

I think I have a book in me
It grows a little every day
I wish that it would go away
It dents my bladder when I pee

I went in for a mammogram
The techs all whispered frantically
At last one of them said to me,
"You have a book - I'm sorry, ma'am."

This book is bigger than my heart is
It crowds out all the useful bits
And inward grows in starts and fits
Every book is like a Tardis

It waxes musty in my chest
As damp and rank as basement storage
As slowly it begins to forage
Breath from waking, dreams from rest

The doctors don't know how to fix it
Books like this are very common
Something seeds them and they glom on
Nothing known to man can nix it

It swells and creaks as I grow thin
It plagues my ribs and pokes my guts
My tissues scarred with paper cuts
I'll never get it out again.