Thinking of the way the wind blows
It seems a bit lighter today.
Closing my eyes,
I lose moments of my existence;
A year left to live…
Is it a curse to have the task
Of writing daily?
Should I blame the sky
For all the wear
I’m undertaking,
Before an undertaker
Assesses my lifeless figure
And helps others remember
Who I was--
Resurrecting me with makeup
And sewing me back together?

Is it a curse to be alive,
Living only half of what was promised
As sleep takes the stars from my sight
And blinking steals moments
Out of every frame of my life?
It’s hard to be witness
To such an existence
I wonder what their punishment
Will be if I miss a day posting.
Should I resign?
Or will they just force me?
I’m afraid of what’s to come,
But blinking is stealing
Moments of my life away--
Moments, I surmise, that in bargaining,
I could regain.