THAT DAY WILL BE MY LAST
Whenever I lose the urge
For living and life
When the zest of each day
Escapes from between my fingers
Like the final solemn offerings
On a darkened night
When I can no longer
See the wood for the trees
And mind’s eye is dream-blind
When I cease to enjoy
The simplicities of every moment
Weighing them by the
Yardstick of burdened expectations
When penning down boundless thoughts
Lead to an imprisoned existence
When I commence that slide,
Into the intractable cycle of numbness
I WANT THAT DAY TO BE MY LAST
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