There are days
when I wake up early,
there is nothing to do.
Nothing to do about anything.
I feel helpless.

There are days
when the sun can shine as bright as it can
but still I cannot see.
And all around me is loss,
and all around me is my own doing.

There are days
when I feel that nothing is worth doing.
When even indulging in passions seems worthless.
The only thing that comes to me,
is the urge to write,
and the urge to end it.

These are the two sides that surround me now,
the cry to scream what is inside
and the temptation that has always been:
to simply stop.
To rest forever.
To feel this no more.
To end these days,
and never be blind again,
because a dead man is not blind,
Their eyes are simply shut.

There will be days
like this one,
where I will once again be blinded.
From my loss and my sickness,
I will be blinded.

There will be days
where my own death
seems to me a fitting thought.
Perhaps, one day,
I will indulge that thought.
I fear that day.

There will be days
when my eyes will open, though,
and I will rise in the morning or in the evening!
The sun will shine or clouds may loom
but I will see them for what they are
and I will not consider the end!
Loss will not surround me
and even if it should come to find me
I will know that it is not my fault!

There will be days
where I am broken.
There will be days
when I hold myself together.
Because I have lost much in life,
and because I live:
There will be days.
There will be days.