Monday, April 13, 2015

(Weak)

It always comes gradually for me.
The thought of my life
Slowly sinking through the murky,
Darkening pit of abstractions too disheartening to name
Losing me. 
My footprint too small,
Will too faible to keep up pictures
Of hope and progress.
Fear, I do,
The words: life and future.
No future, no life,
Have I. 

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