I'm afraid of what my posthumous state will be.
That all I'll strive for I won't get to see.
I'm marching against society.
Is this a nihilistic state?
The stars are dimming
And the core of my existence is dry.
This is all unraveling as I am standing by.
Angry, at myself
I cage me within.
Hoping that maybe
The ice won't be so thin.
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