Choices
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Too early to sleep.
Too busy to rest.
The risks are too steep
and not all addressed.
What if I should perish
by some twist of fate?
My reason stands there,
and it resonates.

But I need to sleep.
That must be addressed.
Reality's steep;
I could do with some rest
or some food, for that matter.
Instead I curse fate,
bound by indecision.
I'll starve at this rate.

I'll starve? That's a laugh.
A laugh? That seems rude.
It's rude? Only half;
the other half's true.
But really, I have
to eat something, and soon.
But I mustn't, and must,
have (or borrow?) some food.

Too hungry to nap.
Too weary to try.
Too hopeful to yap.
Too anxious to cry.
Too anxious to say
any words on my tongue.
Too early to break.
Too late to die young.

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