The light inn your eyes is dimmer than I remember it
Your chin is drooping
You snap without provocation
You’re jumping at shadows
You hate to hear words like love, happiness
You scoff at any sentimental professions of affection
You’re forever brooding
You’re nursing countless glasses of whiskey
Nothing makes you happy
You’re constantly talking to yourself
You sleep while awake
You’re tossing and turning in your sleep
You are discontent with your lot in life
Because you’re ready for goodbye.
Walk on, move on.