Can I look away now? A Poem by Dan Provost

Old notebooks,
now accepted as
finality.
As death nears
& memories become
morbid in the
storage bin.

Each letter,
dealt with
self-indulgence within
pain—waiting for the axe
to fall further & further down

Until the last words convinced
me there
was no
more phrases
to jot or
any observance
to witness.