Ceci n’est pas un poème déprimé

The hatred of my hatred vindicates me:
I am still a consciousness
in and of the world, death foreshadowing
in all of its tissues

My body tortures itself
I must watch, I watch
pain is no measure as my spirit is gone
this is not suffering: I am an automaton

I don’t want to wait
while life flees from me
like a scared rodent flees
from bigger rodents