I don't want to write anymore
The need walked away
and left me with
a balance of zero
All the fire and searing pain
are now cold wet embers
in the morning dew
The lines of love
have turned yellow
in their newspaper ways
Cold dead headlines
that hold no importance
I will bury
the lifeless desire
in old notebooks
that will be shelved
and forgotten
When asked
if I once wrote poetry
I will scoff
and say ,"Who Me ?"
For there is no longer
a reason