Life is hard. Circumstances are harder. What is it that life is leading us towards? I often wonder why we go through suffering if death is inevitable.
Death is inevitable, it’s coming for us. And why are we so glad for a designated end?
Why, for some of us, is death a form of respite, promised at the end of a dark tunnel?
Death is a dear friend for whom we are waiting eagerly, watching, hoping for a quick withdrawal.
And to think, one person or an incident can drop you a whole level and make you beg for release
Life is a punishment to those who are aware. A burden to bear.
Rip apart the soul, see what’s inside and tell me if I’m lying.
I’m bent, wings clipped, an empty vase, that I wish I could fill.