Not enough
Of the world
Seems to know
Who I am
And admittedly I
Do not know
Where I stand
When sometimes
As I make my way
Out of the door
I can not help but question
Whatever so for
Do I move but a muscle
Lift even a finger
And in contemplation
Let idle thoughts linger
Just like in the Devil's
Workshop
Where I stop
On occasion
To tinker the clock
Ticking down
Further down
To the depths where I drown
In the frigid finality's
Hole in the ground
Ever has it been my
Extrication from this
My escape from this place
My eternal death wish
And I'd sooner grant it
For myself
But I fear
Such a yearning to end
Will someday disappear
When I find
What it is
I am meant to discover
In this life,
The next,
Or the arms of a lover