by Glen Martin Fitch

"Come on. It's worth it,"
You said. "Go ahead."
Your "it"
just might be all
that I crave most,
or all that I have settled for instead,
or what will keep me
in my shame engrossed.
How easy it would be,
the letting go.
"Why Not?...A little...
Just this once...I can."
The old familiar senses
I still know.
But then I'd have to face "it"
once again.
Do you know
what MY "it"
still means to me?
My "it"
is one sane thought
in my sick mind.
My "it"
is my last chance
to be set free.
Excuse me,
Screw your kindness
so unkind.
You couldn't say so,
if you knew my lot.
When you say,
“It's worth it."
I say, "It's NOT!"


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011