Poem on the back of Albert Camus

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Broken am I?
Thinking not I ...
Blank is last -
Zero, I am.

Not ready for what is next.
Fear, so therefore can't leave.
Waiting with loose bolt
This final thing, anthing,
A hand shakes and nerves hasten
I can not do; more and more fail.
No more chance;
Is this the meaning of knowing?
I flapped my wings too close
This time with such descent
Burned it beyond connecting true
How nothing thou art, being!

Why am I suicidal yesterday, today and tomorrow
Eleven bells: are those deep breaths?
Shallower now
No joy for me means
Inside a mist stretches my head
A thick fog reaching over my thoughts.
Dreams only disappear with a
Cold cloaked foe leaning me
Flat.

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