Don't think about the end, not now.
No poet's words or prophecy
Can fill the void, no sad slow song,
No prayer or self-inflicted scar,
No philosophical dead end.
Our dancing fails, with hobbled feet.
Sleep tight, sleep's not an easy step.
It doesn't rhyme, or fit the lines.

Apologies to all who need
What's fallen here, suspiring this.
Can't go. Can't stop.  Comes late the taste
Of something that should not have spilled.
Such thinking isn't sanely stayed.
Say what can surely not be said.