By Isreal John
There’s nothing to say.
There’s nothing to do.
I wish that could be the end of it.
I wish that were true.
I know what to say.
I know what to do.
But in the end I sit and let the feeling brew.
It festers and pesters.
It gnaws at my heart.
Taking many shapes and forms.
It speaks the loudest when at dark.
I know what it wants.
I know what it seeks.
But it has been many weeks and for many weeks
I’ve felt so weak.
I want it to stop.
I need it to stop.
I can barely speak.
I feel so weak.
