Every Circle has an End

Every circle has an end.  We all reach it one day. No one's exempt from death's bittersweet embrace. I will have ceased to exist by the time I have great great grandkids. I'll be some person in an old photograph to them.

We are all born from a woman's womb.  Some people become rich or famous.  I've never met either one. I've never will taste that sweet forbidden fruit. I won't ever be one of them. I'll be mourned by  a few then while I'm becoming food for worms, the world will keep  spinning and I'll be forgotten.

If I could leave a mark behind I'd make it dark. Something people write biographies about or do TV specials on.  But I am no genious, and i can't  sing, and i can't dance, i can't play sports, i can't paint and i can't write worth shit. I've never had a dream to live for and achieve.

I'm just getting by, paying the bills, mowing the lawn, doing laundry, ordering take out and popping prescription pills to hold back the blackness that  resides inside myself.  But all I remember is what I lack. I even suck at sex, how depressing is that!

I'm the one that's too hard to please. The woman that gets on your nerves. I sit with my back to the wall and look out at the people all around me, but they never look back.

I've tried to connect to my fellow man. Some would imply, when I was younger, I hooked up with my fellow man too many times.  Time has been unkind to me and all those people have disappeared. So I spend my days writing down the nonsense in my head, drinking too much cherry coke zero, and listening to music I only wish I could have written.

The phone never rings.  The emails are all spam.  The mail is all bills.  I see the world has already begun to slip me out of it's memory. I don't want to go anywhere.  I don't feel like talking. And even though my stomach is growling, I'm not hungry.

I can't see myself past today.  I'm too wrapped up in this depression of mine too care.  I am a slave to my misery.  But I don't want any company!

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