Why I Don't Write You a Letter
My memory fails me, but that is not why
I don't write you a letter. It's because I'm a coward
who doesn't want you to know just how much
I've failed me these last few years.
Have I really been this depressed
so often, so long?
If I don't have time to write a story,
how can I have time to live a good life
I don't know where to begin it.
Am I in it? I think I've fallen
into a vat of lard
Wondering if you know
how to chase my dream
how to find my hope
How to find, again, the difference
between a good and a crap poem.
Can't you tell me where I've left
what I'm seeking
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