The Last Day of My Life

Three-sixty-five days.

Occasionally three-sixty-six.

People die every day

piling up behind each second.

We keep on running

towards the next number

dreading the arm would stop.


If someone in front of you drops,

be careful not to trip.

So we keep on running

in circle and circle

until your turn arrives.

I thought about this every day

except the last day of my life.


Maybe someone got tripped

and hurt their head a bit.

But all they could do is nothing,

the clock would never stop.


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