Another year nearly over
I'm really scared to speak
Not getting any younger
Fearing my future's bleak.
Even though I'm healthy-ish
I think I've not got long to live
Despite kind words others might say
Don't feel I've got much to give.
If only I had a machine
One of those that go back in time...
Oh to be given the chance to start again
But who's to say it would all be fine?
I hate myself, I hate my life
Far fewer days good than bad
To scared to admit the problem's me
Because I'm always feeling sad.
Next year I need to set targets
As I'll reach half a century old
Because if I don't start doing it soon
The future's a mortuary slab cold.
Dulwich Poet 30th December 2015
(The poem speaks for itself. I turn fifty next year, & I'm not happy with life...)
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