What a quaint turn of phrase
To describe my malaise
tis an accurate way to frame it.

To excrete or not see
Not a fun way to be
And no one upon which to blame it.

Is life often this way?
Nothing good either way?
Just a sad choice of what’s bad or worse?

Is this all we’ve got?
The noose or a shot?
And is this life naught but a curse?

I’d like to believe
We weren’t meant to just grieve
That a future with joy lies ahead?

Not just **** and blindness
But some hope and kindness
Something nice before I notice I’m dead!

Perhaps my reward
Is meant to be scored
Just after my untimely demise?

In which case I must say
I’ll begin right away
My quite excellent will to revise.