When I'm dead or dying
life may be a narrative
from intro to my ending
yet not while I'm alive.
I'm enjoying my suffering
those nine to five
sunrises in the evening
burning negatives in the light,
I'm a tragedy progressing
with no ending in sight.

timelines go missing
from chapters to verses
without a single beginning
short stories in series
no ****** or closing
not inter-connected
by theme or by rhyming.

I'm often interrupted...
every crisis I'm messing
spirits spilling into writes
every choice I'm confessing
undone by my nights.
I'm a tragedy progressing
with no ending in sight.

Sam@060817