You planned it all out really well, you thought.
You'll run out of money February when you're eighty-two.
Now you're seventy-nine and you feel alright and you need an excuse to want to die.
If you could ask for help,
all you would hear is how you never had a
wife or a kid.
That's made you sad at times,
but you're too used to knowing how it's going to feel
when you open your window on warm nights
to remember who else is in the house
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