It Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

'Come on. It's worth it, '
You said. 'Go ahead.'
Your 'it'
just might be all
that I crave most,
or all that I have settled for instead,
or what will keep me
in my shame engrossed.
How easy it would be,
the letting go.
'Why Not? ...A little...
Just this once...I can.'
The old familiar senses
I still know.
But then I'd have to face 'it'
once again.
Do you know
what MY 'it'
still means to me?
My 'it'
is one sane thought
in my sick mind.
My 'it'
is my last chance
to be set free.
Excuse me,
damn your kindness so unkind.
You couldn't say so,
if you knew my lot.
When you say,
“It's worth it.'
I say, 'It's NOT! '