Death

A very old poem I wrote when I was suffering from clinical depression and couldn’t see any hope ahead.

 

They say life is not a bed of roses

You say everyone goes through one

But tell me, dear, for once

Do you know what it is really like?

 

To witness life as a car crash

Hear everything you held close

Breaking like glass, into a trillion pieces

 

To feel life like an earthquake

Clinging onto the petty objects

When your belief has cracks beyond repair

 

To run away from this tsunami called life

Hoarding tiny waves of emotions

And shopping it into a fierce demon

 

When life becomes dark as a never-ending tunnel

Death seems to be as welcoming as home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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