i’m sick of being alive
the same old
same old
same old
ad infinitum
{bloody hell spell check is questioning infinitum!!!! NO! it is not infinitude you ignoramus of a programme!!}
no use to anyone {me and the programme}
the world would get along without me
without all of us
we are a very destructive {and creative} blot
and I’m stuck
here
with the same old same old
and this is a really bad poem
not one to go out on
which I can’t do anyway
because
but later
much later
the choice is mine
and I should just keep on typing
it really doesn’t matter whether I type or not
because I’m not really
here
totally invisible
even though I said I am sick of being here
I’m here and not here at the same time
Schrodinger’s here
I wish I had a cat
my soul yearns for a cat
my soul just yearns
for anything
