I remember the things I used to have:
It is true what they say,
that ignorance is a bliss.
Until you wake up
that everything is temporary.
What is there to be proud of?
What is there to live for?
Nobody understands when you tell them,
that you feel like a nobody.
“Aren’t we all a special nobody?” they say.
I, for once, would like to make a dent in this world,
but it seems that the only dent I’ll get
is when they nail my coffin shut.
And then they’ll burn me,
and scatter my ashes at the sea.
Which brings me back
to this repetitive rhetoric,
What is there to live for, really,
or rather, what is there to die for.
21 FEBRUARY 2017, 09:19 PM