The weight of four years
Of sleepless nights
Is heavy.
It brings the sickness.
There is no certainty of death,
I cannot say
"I will die tomorrow."
But I know a feeling,
And would not think it foreign,
If a cold hand came to rest on my shoulder.
If the crow lit on my head,
I would not find it strange.
I did not pack the bags,
But all the same,
I'm ready for the trip.
I cannot say
"I will die tomorrow, the day after, or in a year."
I can say
"I will die someday,
And already I know how it would feel."