I have kicked the ass of the one they call suicide;
told him to never darken my doorstep again,
"you miserable son-of-a-bitch!"
It is not that I am in love with my life,
far be it,
but I have a few miles yet I still want to tread,
and people who depend on me
(or is it I who depend on them?);
words that no one else will ever write
and that someone out there probably needs to read;
I've been told
that life is suffering,
and who am I to believe I am exempt?
And the loss of love
is a poor reason for a loss of life.
So, on your way,
you pathetic bastard,
is no longer welcome,
for I have the
of living my life
until its logical
and inevitable conclusion.
its impending approach.
© 2012 Joseph Powell