Don’t think well of me,
Never confuse me for an optimist,
I dread each day,
I’m a misanthrope,
A negative Nancy,
A cockroach in pants,
With anxiety written on my face,

Each morn wakes with fiery skies,
A new doomsday,
The next stage of my degradation,
The next worst day of my life,
Alas I rise amidst the rubble,
Like Icarus soaring,
Only to burn up,

But chronology comes to alleviate the scalding,
When I close my eyes again,
The void reaches out,
An oily swimming pool,
Sounds like heaven to me,
I savour every black moment,
Though dreading the next waking moment.

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