Expectations

I think I might die.
I hope that's okay,
I don't know if you loved me,
if you did you might cry.

I miss all the living.
I'm left with a life,
if a verb has no feeling,
its a noun deep inside.

But my words have no meaning.
Without action racing behind,
like that frayed and tethered cord,
plunging to its final snap.

Yet if my skin turns palid.
Just like festering maggots,
then the flies on my corpse,
gain more purpose than I did.

I don't want my life.
I hope it's not bitter,
but even if I fail to use my gifts,
MAMA DIDNT RAISE NO QUITTER!

So every sitting shower,
with every beer I've downed,
crowding all around me,
the choir announcing,
that I will fail,
"how astounding".

I wasn't born to stick the landing.
I don't cry because I'm failing,
I am not lost but simply floundering,
When I rise tomorrow,
I will smile again.