We’re born, we live, and we die
And nothing fucking matters.
Not a single truth we tell; not a lie,
Not every dream that shatters.
This life is twisted and wretched,
A tortured, writhing thing.
Something fundamental has shifted,
The birds no longer dare to sing.
Nature screams in silence,
And I cannot say I disagree.
Speaking only incites violence,
Until blood is all we see.
We are born,
And our wails envelop the room.
From safety, we are torn,
And brought into the gloom.
Joy echoes as though they forget they should mourn,
For we are all drifting towards our doom.
We live,
In glass castles with hollow walls,
We pretend we cannot see the hate they give.
Beaten, bruised, and hiding behind silken shawls,
There is nothing we can’t forgive.
Pinned down in dirty bathrooms with broken stalls,
There is nothing we cannot outlive.
We die,
Slipping away alone in the dark,
Body too broken to cry.
The casket waits in that glen by the park,
Beneath the weeping willows, sweeping and shy.
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