I have no special immunity
From my time's incontinuity.
I will age, as sour, in time
Like a grape, our, on the vine
Unbound, I'll drop to the ground;
Brown, lost, never found.
.
I have a ghost and it is time to give it up
When I see, half-empty, my half-full cup.
Nights will fall as days will rise
I'll lie in state, when time-to-live dies.
For I was born with redemptive apoptosis,
And not with, bountiful, apotheosis.
About the Creator
Gerard DiLeo
Retired, not tired. Hippocampus, behave!
Make me rich! https://www.amazon.com/Gerard-DiLeo/e/B00JE6LL2W/
My substrack at https://substack.com/@drdileo
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts7 days ago in Longevity
Comments (3)
Love all the symmetry/opposites in this one. Perfectly balanced, like the rhythm.
Feeling thoughtful, Gerard? This seems more introspective.
It's been years since I came across the word apoptosis! Loved your poem!