Blue green yellow and red

but I’m not sure I’m ready to die.

I’ve thought about the edge 

of the razor in my desk 

rusted, unshined. 

 

And I drink too much

and I smoke marijuana;

and I’ve done wrong and lied;

how fitting that I should die.

 

But tonight after too many beers

and too much wine,

I’ll go to bed alive

to wake up wishing I were dead

still only dying.