What Happens If I Stop

By Jo Withers

Click. Click.

Two clicks to release the pen,
Touch top of margin then begin,
Six words fit the sentence plan,
Clear order mutes the niggling pain,

Every line should end with ‘N’,
I’ll maintain full control and then,
Perhaps I’ll feel balanced once again,
Protected when the bad things happen,

Four strict lines in every column,
Fear and self-loathing will be forgotten,
I’ll find clarity through the confusion,
I’ll keep my social sane illusion.

Perfecting words voiced through my pen,
Quiets the conflict and despair within,
Keeps whispering doubt so neatly hidden,
Safely wrapped in the repeated pattern.

Click. Click.

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