I find myself angry with life.
A low, simmering rage
only too close to a boil.
Once, my mind was
the sharpest of blades,
nothing could stand before me.
Now, it is but a vestigial sort of thing,
a relic of times better remembered.
I am rusted by the monotone
my life has become.
The repetition of every day
comes on as a flood;
I will succumb.
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 2:11 PM UTC
I find myself angry with life.
A low, simmering rage
only too close to a boil.
Once, my mind was
the sharpest of blades,
nothing could stand before me.
Now, it is but a vestigial sort of thing,
a relic of times better remembered.
I am rusted by the monotone
my life has become.
The repetition of every day
comes on as a flood;
I will succumb.
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