In my weak week(s),
no matter the doldrums,
I am still thankful
for loss and love,
for restless nights,
spent lying awake
watching Seinfeld
and wishing for sleep.
In my dying day(s),
in spite of the anxiety,
I am, still grateful
for the birds and the beers,
the hatred I hear
and the desire I fear.
In my existential eyes,
out of a lion,
minutes and moments
make memories
and I know this,
opposite of emotion
which tears me apart
as I re-read books
and re-watch films,
all while the ceiling
watches me like God,
proving once more,
that I am obligated to acknowledge
that I am indebted to life,
for it has given me so much.