Pick Your Poison

Pick your poison, we all die anyway;
Tell that to the babe who's lived just one day,
Whose sunrise paired not with sundown, whose feet never met ground.

Tell that to the survivor who's fought hard to stay,
Whose nights shriek in anguish, which the flippant dismiss.

Tell it to the wife who's laughed for the last time,
With the one who last night, seemed just to be fine.

Now tell me it matters not which of these you are,
Blank faces which speak, never searching quite deep -
Pick your poison, they say; like it's of no worth to have
just one more day.