You know the melancholy you feel

could be lifted by a spill of blood.

But your legs beneath you are lead,

and your will is a heavy tide

bent on drowning you.

It is still deciding...

You are too lazy to die,

too lazy to live.

Handed on a golden platter

means nothing now.

If all the platters are golden,

no one sees the gold.

If all the platters are gold,

silver is the only thing that shines.

But you are neither silver nor gold.

Soon, you won't have to work to die.

You can be lazy and accomplish it.

You won't even have to realize.