Let me tell you the story
of why I never wrote again.
It was a clear autumn day,
No wind, no clouds, no rain.
Just enough calm space, for my mind to go array.
My flowers stopped growing,
shriveling with every breath of air I tried to give.
The sun seemingly never set against that pale sky, burning my will to live.
I wound up trying to give up my soul to anyone who might have her for a better home.
She didn’t deserve this.
While trying to find candidates, I relayed her story, revealing my own.
I once read it so fast it was like a hurricane striking,
a bold shot of lighting.
Slow down, they’d said.
Take a breath and relax.
But who’s head did those words spin around in, day by day.
I am just trying to show you that my mind is open for business.
Take what you want,
Because I only know how to destroy.
One by one, all that I had made, was bought and sold.
Better it go, for who knows how long this storm will brew.
That was the day I stopped,
And never wrote again.
