A cloud hanging above me,

black and thick like a pool of tar,

I don’t think I can go very far,

all I can muster is simply be.

Skeleton with a coat of sinew and flesh,

the same wounds keep opening up as fresh,

this existence is mostly void of joy,

the little there is feels like a ploy.

Can’t stop pondering death,

maybe it’s all a waste of breath,

too numb to ...

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