you're a rock on the edge of a river
you're pummeled incessantly by everything all around you
there may be a brief respite, but the water returns
until your sharp edges are honed to smooth curves
or until you fragment into nothing.
pain is an itchy wool winter coat
sometimes it's the only thing you have
and sometimes you have to wear it
sometimes you have no choice but to deal with it.
it itches and irritates and suffocates
until eventually, you're just driven crazy.
sometimes you get to hang it up
but you'll eventually be forced to wear it again.
life is poetry, beautiful and melodic
and life is prose, long and detailed
love is poetry, short and sweet
and death is prose, long and affecting.
prose is the raising of family
poetry is sudden destruction.
"all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
