Word-pain is so much better
Then real pain

There is no fancy writing
There is no rhyming lines
No quid pro quo
No justice
Or quick sayings of wit

In a poem you can die a thousand million deaths, but after each you still hear them all and have a mind to write one more for yourself.
One more time you are able to cover your grave.
One more time you can cry over blotches of black and white

In life you die.
That’s it.
No more.
End of the line
No more graves to dig
Only a life of promises made... and broken
Only a “to be continued” unfulfilled