Will I last another day?
Will I find another way?
We all fall down and only a few will stand back up.
Can I carry on?
We're all over the place.
Some on the top and some in the morgue.
Will it ever come?
Will it ever go?
But after it all we will fall.
All of us.
One by one.
Never standing back up.
We all end up in the morgue.
Some sooner than others.
Some wish to live long and some ache to die now.
Which are you?
Do you live or do you try to die?
We all think about dying.
Even for a second.
Because we all know we belong in the morgue.
Safe and sound.
Never to be hurt again.
YOU ARE READING
My Mind.
PoetryNo one is quite fixable. We just need to find the beauty in our ugliness. That will be how we overcome this world.
