The Ends Poem by Jon Butter

Hemingway called it “blackass.”
I call it The Ends.
The place where no one visits:
Even if they could,
They wouldn’t stay.

There are no sunny days
Or candy canes
Down here.
Even when the sun shines
You can’t taste a thing.

Your pen is full.
You have plenty of paper.
The coffee drips dark and black.
There is no dancing.

Your walls are like mountains.
Anyone who climbs over
Gets shot.

Being dead is better than the ends.
You just don’t have the energy
to finish the job.