Is it too late to change
If the rage cannot pass
I'm breaking again
And again and again
I can't be glib, won't be coy
This my last chance, I know
I've never been first but I am cursed
I know that I'm last and that's alright
As the storm advances
The wicked winds blow
And wind tears at the edge
All that isn't tied down
Will be scattered like confetti
The wind flow pounds constantly
So pray, hope, or buy insurance
Anything goes when you are waiting
To be destroyed or to die in misery
An act of murder
Of yourself
By rage of your own hand
“Besides, my life is a catastrophe. It's
a catastrophe to be without a voice.”
E.B. White
