I’ll spend my last day with relish.
I’ll drag that comatose half of me out, so we’ll spend this final day whole.
Instead of staying inside for lunch, I’ll go out and get pasta.
I’ll blast my ears through with music, and sing my lungs out.
Walk with springs taped to my step, and take a picture of this shining sky.
I’ll stare into the sun, and move my work to the bin.
I’ll fold receipts into planes, and fly them out of the window.
I’ll sharpen pencils, and scrawl blobby cats on the walls.
I’ll buy that jacket, and flaunt it at the tropical weather.
Read a sleazy book, and laugh at the way the sun slips through the window grills.
I’ll—
Make this last day, trying to be happy.
Today.
- Author: fkoshk (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: July 26th, 2022 10:20
- Comment from author about the poem: Not like one wants to die, I suspect it's more a feeling of not wanting to live. It's a dangerous gamble, perhaps, putting your life on the line on the off chance this is actually what you want, but if there's a better choice, then why haven't you chosen it yet?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
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