Crawling in my head through the deep, dark murk
Are thoughts of my legs that are dead
And my muscles that wrestle with a queerly quick quirk.
Exhausted from the torment of life,
No longer could I possibly strive.
I no longer endeaver to endure the weather
of barriers that cannot induce the least pleasure.
Worn with disappointment and hate,
The end of today finds me very irate.
The soft, swift night shall tuck me though
into covers of its abysmal, sweet dark
comforting me with the knowledge
that only is it my choice to embark.
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