By Damien Knight
Life, long tedious overwhelming underbearing, life.
Why do I continue you when I instead should toss you aside,
For the shroud of the shadowy death that is me?
Why do I press on when there is nothing
For me to press on against?
There is no laughter in these empty eyes,
No smile marks do I bear on my face.
Just the grim and ghastly frown of undead.
So why must I press in my suffering
Like salt in an open wound?
None the less I press and press
To keep myself undead!
The Shade of Writing 