Journalism Suicide
Location
I meant to tell you
that I wrote the other day,
but I kept silent
because I wrote about my fears.
And it’s all the words
I never can say.
I knew if I told you,
you’d know the contents of my heart
and is that too much
of a risk to take?
No.
My passion?
It’s fading.
The words no longer stream out of me.
Why, words? You are
My life.
I meant to tell you
that I wished the other day,
but I kept silent
because I wished for my passion,
my dedication,
my rage,
my life and my
long lasting
Love
For my words.
Anxiety is taking over me.
I can’t think.
I can’t do anything.
Like thunder, it drowns out the
sounds.
The sounds in my mind that tell me
everything will be alright.
This anxiety is holding me.
But why?
Why is my crime
a part of my own mind?
I am my own captor
and I am far too strong
To Let
Myself
Go