The problem about life is that it's all so subjective
Nothing is logical
Nothing is promised
Nothing is certain
Except for the fact that in one day we are born
And in another we die
Everything else is just an opinion
A concept we had to made up to keep us from giving up
From wondering
What's the point?
If everything is just so blurry
And people
People aren't all bad
But no one is plain good
It's just a mix
Of both
Because the problem about life is that it's not black and white
It's grey.
YOU ARE READING
Deadly - Poetry
Poesie/Feel free to kill me anytime. Isn't that what you were made for?/
