Not yet, Bukowski…

Bukowski Tat
I didn’t have to read you
To understand
That life is a series of heart breaks
With some tremors lasting longer
Than others
And the broken people
I meet along the way are the ones
Who haven’t allowed themselves
To be killed by their pain
I didn’t need a drunkard to fill my head
With more doubts
About the purpose of my existence
Or about the Gods who don’t care enough
To save me
From my own extinction
Or did they?
I have no desire to be reminded
Of my frivolous pursuits
Of goodness
And greatness
Sitting in the confines of an eight foot cubicle
Suffocating from the cold air
Forcefully blowing on my head
But, I surely didn’t need to come face to face
With my nothingness
No! Not today!
the shame of a deliberately wasted life
Resigning to a plan of curated boredom
Planning my next adventure online
When I’m riddled with a condition so severe
That it hurts to even talk about it
So, No! Not yet!
I don’t need you to predict
My fate
To pronounce that I will never recover
From this illness
I already know that my love
Is slowly killing me every single day

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