Standing in the garden, I admire the trees.
So strong, so tall, so carefree
Watching its leaves dance through the breeze

Too old to see it all
Too young to make it stop
You’ll learn to love each second
When seconds are all you’ve got

Cuz the night is over soon
There’s no turning back the clock
oh just take another drag, babe
We’re not finished with our walk

The Future so uncertain
The end is always near
Not easy living
for the moment
When you're in a world of fear

That's why we laugh it off
And love who we hold dear
Soon the clock will strike
And everyone disappears

Oh darling
Don’t be blue
Don’t be dreaming of the gloom
Our time together
plays forever
Like a movie for the moon
Tomorrow is not a given
Expecting certain doom
ill shut my mouth
and kiss your lips
It's the only thing to do
The only thing to do

The song is almost over
The finales just begun
Soon it's all just ashes
Punishment by the sun

We're just doing what we're told
But our minds are overrun
We dream of growing old
Just reveries for us

A generation lost
Forgotten in the dust
Living on absurdity
Living without trust

That's why we laugh it off
And love who we hold dear
soon the clock will strike
And everyone disappears

So darling
Don’t be mad
Don’t over comprehend
Spend your time
Feelin fine
With lovers and your friends
Tomorrows never given
It's all just play-pretend
So I'll shut my mouth
and kiss your lips
We'll at least enjoy the end
At least enjoy the end

There's a wind on,
a real, big wind.
Too strong for kites,
likely to snap the string,
flying the kite
far, far, far.

Walking is a battle
between you and the breeze,
brewing up a tussle.
See the people bent over double?
They know, they've got it,
they know the score.
You and the wind, destination moot.
Forget jobs, forget groceries and lunch dates,
you've got gusts to tackle!

The door shuts,
the whoosh mutes and hair settles,
you've made it, but the wind,
it still howls.

At the foothills of vintage age
you feel perceptibly less somber
for there are only meager remains
of mostly forgotten days -
      little to smile, rue or cry for
and an amorphous
yet obligingly finite future -
      trifling to put together or fight for.

So dear Chandra:
here is a congratulation:
It must be awesome -
this imminent privilege of geriatrics
and this stolen bit of transient freedom;
      the real laissez-faire to yearn
      and to die for.
timorously cajoled
from time’s exacting, puritan dictum.

When I was young life came at such a pace that choices were often ill-considered.
Now I am older the pace is easier but the important choices are all made and they can only be made to change by actions ill-considered.

I wondered a lie, it is my head.

The culture within me seeks solace in
substance, and I wonder
why my mental health won't stay wholesome.

It is hard to hear that genuine, innocent voice
anymore, to hear it put words to my mouth.
My head pounds with nervous aftershock.

I was quite manic today. It is clear to me
I was not in control of myself

and would do well to seek help, or administer something
that'd reconcile with myself with
these sways.

Hatred. My heart burns with it.
How can I forgive myself?
Part of me
wants to watch it burn.
Is it okay to write that?
To admit to living
in a world of one's own

sins and torment;
A survival technique:
To look toward a dark future
spent living in the past.

I'll not shy away from
reasoned discourse, nor
should I go willingly into my pain
thinking it'll save me.

The next day I took a single milligram
of 4-chlorodiazepam.