At the End of the Days

For some time now
talking to you
has proven much harder
than writing to you
and if I’m honest
writing at you is really much more
the preferred form
of communication.

There are things I need to say
but it seems
I am not prepared
or just too scared
to dare to listen to any kind of response.

What kind of a man does that make me?
Is the sort of question
I would ask
if I left any space
for anyone to ever answer.

As it is
I don’t really know why I find myself chagrinned
when I’m constantly left
at the end of my days
alone
with nothing but echoes
of empty silence.

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