Remembering things I haven't done.
Wanting what I already own.
A broken body
Rich with soul.
Invested in myself,
What I love my only luxury.
A deluxe lifestyle,
Skin and bones,
Worn and torn,
Past my prime.
A youthful state-of-mind,
With a cynical,
cyanide suicide
Of the mind.
Down through the spine.
Tingling pins
And
Giggling needles.
The brain swallows itself.
With so much time on the shelf.
Relaxed, taxed, and no kick back.
The future ahead.
The past behind.
The present?
A gift.
Just depends on youth.
(excerpt from 3rd Shift Epiphanies: Chronicles of a gas attendant)
-Today's daily poem
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