I probably should have died yesterday
But ‘my life’, this poem, is unfinished.
I probably should have lived today,
But ‘my life’, this poem, I found blemished
So I probably should have stopped
Pretending I am not just clay
Pretending to want to live;
Pretending to want to die
Yet this poem goes on to unfold. And there must be me.
Maybe I should have never been me
Maybe I should have never given in
To that affair, me and her in the mirror
A whole 5-seconds long.
Wishing I could forget
Knowing I shall never
I couldn’t but face
That this poem unfolds. And then there must be me.