I’ll Take the Quiet Life

the rustling turn on each page

as my fingertips ran through them

whispers in a raspy old age,

“stay with me, ahem, ahem.”

and i did.

in the middle of march’s night,

how badly i want to get rid

of all my own’s fright.

bravely, i bother not to,

it’s not a big hairball monster,

no one can see, i knew,

it’s not a pixie nor a creature,

it’s not in me nor in her.

doesn’t scare me away,

i can come back everyday.

this time it’s killing me,

no fangs, no sharp knives.

i think it’s just me.

mypoetrysignature2

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