Talking about it makes me feel so vain
Comparing them puts me in a bit of strain
Can't run from problems with my legs filled with pain
Can't sigh with this corruption gripping my brain
What is left to possibly gain?
I say as my ink stains the sink with my name
Just another thought that escapes down the drain
Are my days numbered or few?
With the vastness of this planet that thought is misconstrued
I squint to see light of any hue
But what brightens my life can blind me too
What is an otter to do?