They ask me if I'm okay.
What else am I going to say?
That I'm fine?
That I'm just waiting to die?
Just another of the mass of men
Leading a life of quiet desperation?
Or a different affirmative line?
Just another smiling lie.
In practice it seems so easy.
Saying something nice,
And quietly feeling queasy
Hoping they don't look twice.
But behind my smiling face,
I wear the silent disgrace
Of dreaming of death,
But waking to still be drawing breath.
One day soon I'll cease to be.
Hopefully then they'll forget about me.
YOU ARE READING
Assorted Poetic Musings and Ramblings
PoetryA compendium of my poems. I just needed to put it out here at this point. It's less for you, the reader, as it is for me to know its out here. These poems are not for the faint of heart, mostly because they're bad enough to kill, but also because...
