Stage Act

My whole life is 

this stage act,

pretending that I'm okay.


When deep inside,

I can't bear this life.


I'm just tolerating

my own existence,

waiting until I expire.


I'm counting the grains of sand,

patiently and earnestly.


I just wish I knew

how many were left.


I wish I knew if anything

would ever become

of my so-called life.


Or will it end 

just as purposelessly

as it's been lived thus far.

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