We steadily crash and burn, don't we,
Until our lives are through.
Our engine lights are blinking,
And no one knows what to do.
So scream in panic and run in circles
With this flimsy hope - any good it'll do -
A fake belief that it'll fix itself,
A miracle that never seems to come true.
In this crazy, heated atmosphere,
No one thinks to abandon ship.
And while I couldn't tell you why,
Maybe it's our pride that has a death grip.
They say a captain holds on 'til the end,
And his crew'll follow him anywhere.
Honor before life in this dying man's game,
In this fight against death, a dare.
What good will it do if you don't
Even try to fix what is easily repaired?
Like not looking to see the shore ten miles off,
The sea seeping in gets you scared.
My lack of motivation is my mind
In shock at the things hysteria makes you do.
The water isn't deep, you could walk off to shore,
Yet you just sit and choose not to move.

YOU ARE READING
All That's Left
PoetryCollection of poems following random thoughts, sometimes dark, sometimes light, sometimes weird.