My relationship to reading is complicated. I love to read, but I am very picky. If a books starts to spook me, I will close it though I am in love, even, with the characters! Thus was so when I wrote this poem. For the purposes of respect to the author, I will not name the book, though it was excellent and I ALMOST finished it…. I just got scared.


The book I’m reading incites deep thoughts.

I can’t.

Depth is too deep.

I am swimming in denial.

The edge.

I will fall I have fallen.

I may not recover.


I won’t recover.
Whatever happens.
I’ll be dead inside.

Is it me that is climbing out?
how does that make sense?

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