Perish
Every day I wake feeling six feet underground. My back is broke my head it needs a constant calming down The sun it was once a close dear friend of mine Now I’m in a corner chair trying to write another line I don’t know It may be time for me to go But I fear leaving will only give you what you want And right now. I perish at that thought Eyes are not reliable in fact they often lie Mine have grown so weary from the same ole passing sky A fatal thought that I might find my heart is just too weak Better to be underfloor than underneath the heap