Afraid To Write, For Ending
I don’t want to write any poetry,
I really, really, don’t.
I’m afraid with what I might come up with,
I’m afraid of what I won’t.
I’ve lost most care for laughing,
Most hope and love, must change…
But I’m dying and dying deep inside,
And I yearn for that to change —
To end would be a bless,
Bestowed on only me.
And a cure to all the others,
Who say they lov’est me.
Copyright © Christie Morris | Year Posted 2011
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