My face isn't carved in a mountain. I've never been struck by lightning.
I've never saved a crying baby from a burning house fire nor have I over come my misfortunes in life to acquire a name for myself. I consider myself a writer although all I've written is only pieces of torn limbs of my distraught existence.
Everything is a poem to me, it's my shorthand.
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Friday, December 4, 2015
were all dieing
Living longer is not living better
And living better is not living longer
But yesterday I quit and still woke up today.
I'll wake up again tomorrow
Even though I'm afraid
Of living longer and not better.
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