269. Not The End

I have spent so much time

doing nothing, and being nothing,

that nothing has become me.

It has become my life.

I think of many words to write,

and many more stories to tell.

Though,  I always put them aside,

for I fear they won’t do so well.

I’d rather dig myself a hole,

jump in, and bury myself alive.

I know I wouldn’t be missed.

It’d be so much easier just to let go.

I am dying on the inside, after all,

listening to the echoes of my failures,

covering my heart like silent snowfall,

and weighing me down, like a flightless bird.

I wish I had something happier to write,

but I just can’t do it. Not right now.

For once, I’d like to just win the fight,

and not be shackled to the ground. 

I’d like to fly, to soar through the clouds.

I forever wish to see the earth from above.

I could let it all go and forget my past life,

and fly far away, as far as a turtle dove.

And perhaps, one day, 

we’ll meet again,

my love.

This is not the end.