deepundergroundpoetry.com

Existing Here

Sleepless nights, drunk and stumbling.
Does this life mean something to me?
Why am I here? I just keep tumbling
Into every meaningless hole. Maybe
I am meant for greatness and passion.
I exist somewhere between here and
There. Too many sickened and ashen
Bodies. What happened to my hand?
So full of light and softness. All I want
To do is just lay in my coffin knowing
That nothing comes back to haunt
Me. The seeds I planted are growing
And blossoming into something way
Beyond beautiful besides weeds or dirt.
At the beginning and end of every day,
We live. We breathe. We stop the hurt.
Written by eswaller
Published
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