There is no point to this, I write and write to get no play
I put my heart in situations, that’s why I wrote Astray
I’m living in a life full of misery and pain
I never sound nice nor do I even count the strain
The strain of vigilance among the two who have restraints and hits
The love of colorless will paint pictures on black and white canvas
The tyranny that’s caused all of this war, shall pour upon its people
Drown them in the sore, deep in pores where death dwells in kilos
The superstition of regulars on the dark path
Individuals divided by numbers but have no hint of math
Take a glance, portray them as your evil leader
If I had a chance, I’d die cus rolling dice is just a feature
Will we prevail if god shows us more suns and earths?
Will we all die if we prove we we’re made of dirt?
With such mystery we wonder why we’re still living
Too bad we all die tomorrow and nothing is forgiven.
1 thought on “Dead”
great poem with honest words