Death is a friend


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.

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