The Misery and the Cemetery

I'm weak

Haven't spoken to anyone a week.

Of suicide I contemplate

My body, energy won't generate.

Instead of living this misery

I'm thinking it's quieter in the cemetery.

No hard work to earn a living,

Matter of fact – no living or breathing!

No parents to disappoint

Or girlfriends to miss their appointments;

No thoughts about the future;

No guilt of the past and worry of the future;

No religions to misguide me,

Or neighbour to watch how I prevail

Or how I fail!

No wives to marry then constantly watch

Or kids to look after.

I'm thinking it's about time –

It's about my prime

To meet my creator

If in the cemetery he too has found solace.