They say life is a gift,
That it's as valuable as gold,
But how can that be,
With all the burdens you hold?
How can it be precious,
When your life's full of strife,
And when the people around you,
Make you hate your own life?
How can it be special,
When you're forced to be like the rest,
When people around you,
Want to crush the heart in your chest?
How can it be important,
When you're forced in a cell,
Not being allowed to leave,
While they make your life hell?
How can it be worth it,
When people tell you to die,
While you force a smile,
But all you can do is cry?
YOU ARE READING
Journal Of The Fallen
PoetryThis is a journal of poetry I've written over the years
