With the frenzy
of a stereotypical lovestruck fool
I pluck flower petals
of my existence.

I am okay. I am not okay.
I am okay. I am not okay.

Not sure if finding
or placing meaning,

if living,
or always failing.

I am okay. I am not okay.
I am okay. I am not okay.

When finally there is no more to pluck
My days have already been

spent.

I am okay. I am not okay.
*I am okay. I am not okay.