Only after I will have profoundly analyzed
The quintessence of all that I will think I've agonized
-Surrounded by cynicism and unnerving people still
-Put to sleep by sweet illusions inside a prescription pill-
I'll realize, amused by my own plotline's final twist
Deep down where the sweet denials of any meaning still persist
That I've just had only one chance out of six billion
To exist.
Now I can place a bet, my friend, that I will not be breathing then
Only the very last of ink drops will be dripping from my pen.
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Submission Name: Epiphany of an angry, dying poet
