The End is where we all die,
Does it even matter how?
Whether it was from poisoned fries,
Or a perfect murder with hands all gloved.
Whether we choose to fall,
Or are pushed to the ground.
Whether we held out head high and stood tall,
Does it even matter when the body is found?
This world is dark,
With a few glowing stars.
Will the continue to spark,
Or get hit by the speeding cars?
When I was younger, I was stupid,
Thought people regretted their sins.
Now, I know that they just open the lid,
And throw it all in garbage bins.
Oh, haven't we all sinned,
One way or the other.
Truth, may it be thickened or thinned,
To explain, don't even bother.
Yet again, the truth hits hard,
Never did I want to know this.
Piercing like a glass shard,
Turning things away from bliss.
Oh tell me, how does it mater,
All my accomplishments, the prizes I've gotten.
I'd hate to get your heart to shatter,
But in The End, it's just a corpse that's rotten.
— Sadhana
YOU ARE READING
The Story Of Another Me
PoetryThis is a book for everyone. This is a book for no one. This is a book for her. This is a book for him. This is a book you'll wish to read. This is a book you'll never wish to read. This is a book for us. This is a book for them. This is a poetry bo...
