Death and Disease
I must have spent too much time up on my head;
It took more than six tries to get out of bed.
Before I could take off the covers this morning,
A feeling of despondence flashed without warning.
Facing the end of a trend so complete, it reveals,
Death and disease never borrow what one steals.
The streets are all littered with people who chatter;
Tell me, why won’t you tell me what is the matter?
I step on my leg, which crumbles under the weight;
Then crack my head open, not a moment too late.