Four A.M. and I’m lonely. Not much else is new.
Rain is forecasted, and it will last through the day.
To me, that is refreshing, for parched is my soul.
One more small separation would be nature’s goal
To protect each from others. I feel in the way
And too old to recover from my feeling blue.
There’s so much I could die about. Life given me
I have wasted on foolishness and causing harm.
My own filth is my dwelling. I’ve no energy
To move waste from this body… at least completely.
My estrangement from family should cause alarm.
People I know must look upon me with pity.
I’m said to be emotionally immature.
I digest all my labels as well as my food
Which gets stuck on the highway with each twist and turn.
A perpetual pluming disease I discern.
Medicine cannot help me. It comes as a rude
Slap to my face. I have but the choice to endure.
A bullet in slow motion is headed toward me.
Should I step out of danger if I think I can?
Reflexes must take over if they function well.
Is this life that I’m living one absolute hell?
I’m still here for some reason. I’ll stick with the plan
That I must have blind faith in. That’s how it must be.