Poem #85

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But I couldn't tell you what my existence means. I prayed for years not to make it this far. And now that I have there is nothing here. No plans. No will to make any plans. I'm sitting here in the same room I've been in for 18 years. As a child I couldn't stop naming you the things I one day wanted to be. Now when people ask I freeze. I attempt to come up with an answer. I could tell them I want to be dead that my childhood and will to live all died at the same time. I could tell them that the idea of working 9-5 exhausts me. But that doesn't stop it from becoming my reality. I have no dreams. I have no will to make a difference. I sit on my bedroom floor. I don't know what I want to be anymore.

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