if life's just lines of poetry then mine must be...

cold frustration runs high
a thousand and one emotions
engulfs my feeble mind
is this the bitter end?
or has it already came
moribound and creeping with rigor mortis?
battered instruments that echo
a tragic flow of circumstances
why i ask?
if this is it then
how i ask again
did all this turn about?
if this is the end
should i go against
dylan's poem that envokes me
to go not gently un to the night?

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