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