I don't want to write about
Love and the way you taste,
The gentle way your hands feel
when tangled in the curls of my hair.

I don't want to write about
The rain and the way it smells,
The calming pitter patter
beating against the window.

I don't want to write about
The monsters I know,
The way they haunt me
with their inescapable whispers.

I don't want to write about it.
I can't write about it.