Inconsequential Tragedy

I’m not in danger of losing you

I’m in danger

Of losing myself

Poetry can be only so much of a diversion

To the reality that I am slipping

My mind races with dreams of eventual death

Reaching a head faster than I expected

Or even deserve

I can feel it in my bones, my breath

The calendar is turning, I don’t have much left

I feel privileged to have lived this long

But stopping now seems premature

Like my book dreams, like super bowl rings

For a team that struggled to win eight games

Somehow, for every step forward that I take

A deep seated feeling of pain grows

Blues that come but never want to go away

Am I a tragedy on two legs

Or simply mistaken about who I have become

Nobody wants to hear my words, apparently

My tragedy is inconsequential to you

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