I sit here in my bed
Searching for answers

I sit here
Wondering
Why did the world have to come to this?
Why do I have to...
Die...?

I guess everybody dies
But I don't want to die
I don't want my life to slip away

I don't know why but...
I feel as though there is a chance...
A chance for me to live...!
But no...
It can't be...

For I am sick
And won't get up again...

It won't be that bad...
Will it...?
Just fading away into nothingness
Not feeling or hearing
Or seeing or smelling

Goodbye everybody...
My life is gonna slip away
Into nothingness
Goodbye old friends...
I'm going...

all poets are human, therefore, all humans are  
poems*

<•>

"In logic, a tautology (from the Greek word ταυτολογία) is a formula that is true in every possible interpretation."

<•>
hardly a tightly taut tautology,
yet true this, in every possible instance

all humans, poems,

as if their portrait painted

from words dipped in a vocabulary palette

which is why,

you my million muses,

are so oft the themes of *who I write

and when foolish think there is no
inspiration in the air,
your names
each and every,
a title awaiting
finishing