My life is an endless well of deep depression
With a scant few years of light shining in it
Not even enough
To reflect itself in my writing
Everything I've ever cared for
Has been stolen from me
I have cried so often
That tears no longer come to me
And I have but two releases left -
Poetry and Death
And I long for both
With such desire
That it cripples me
30 July 1996
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