I've always wondered,
What happened after we die.
Do I become something else,
Or do I become nothing?
What is left for me,
When I am nothing but a body.
When I am nothing but a memory,
A gravestone among a million others.
They tell you,
It's better to be known for something terrible,
Than to be forgotten.
But also tell you,
That being terrible,
Gets you nowhere.
What am I supposed to be?
What am I supposed to do?
They tell you to grow up,
Then tell you,
To stop acting grown.
I've always wondered why they do that.
YOU ARE READING
Cry
Poetry100 word stories. - warning! Talks about suicide, self harm, abuse, etc. read at your own risk. this is your only trigger warning. -
