I’m worried about my poem.
Sitting all alone.
Received, no Progress.
Is she scared? Is it dark?
Is it cold? Are there
spiders and snakes?
Or is it blank.
Like purgatory.
Like nothing.
Does she feel unwanted
unloved? Does she think
I abandoned her?
I wish I could tell
her I love her.
Always will.
No matter what.
I check on her
every day.
I’m watching, making
sure she’s okay. I can
see she’s still there.
If things don’t
change soon,
I’ll Withdraw.
Bring her home.
But for now,
I’ll wait with her.
Until she turns blue.
