Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Life Sentence

Why is it the words won’t come today?
I hate everything I write.
Nothing is.
It all is just.
And so I sit.
And erase.
And write and erase.
And go to the kitchen
to see what I can eat,
swallow,
cook.
Hoping
that when I sit down again to write,
someone else will have taken my place.
It has been like that lately.
My mind judges my words,
and all that I write.
It is a very cruel judge.
So unforgiving.
Sentencing me to insecurity and fear
with no possibility of parole.
I am on death row.
My last meal coming.
The sun setting out my window.
The guard with the key.
The clanging metal.
The long walk down the hall.
Leading to what?
Permanent silence.
No more judging.
No more fault finding.
No more wishing I were
somebody else.