The hour of death is uncertain
This second could be my last, the black ink of my pen
Slide off the page, leaving this poem half-done,
How are you surviving without me?
Oh, that’s right, you’re in love with someone else and haven’t loved me for months now.
I’ll never stop loving you. 8 more words
I’ve been avoiding something. I’ve been avoiding the chrysalis that didn’t make it.
There will be no butterfly from this sad chrysalis. The kids and I raised one monarch caterpillar from an egg very carefully this year, even carting it all the way up north and back, finding fresh milkweed for it every day. 501 more words