Ever wonder why this life is so messed up? I sure as hell do! I don’t get it. I mean we’re here for a reason…maybe. I don’t understand anything about it though. I wish I did, it would be nice to be able to grasp something about this life and not simply expect it to be here whenever we need it to be. Yet that’s exactly what we do! We expect life to be here for us and we don’t want to give anything back, talk about an annoying thought process. But what are we going to do about it all? I don’t know. I wish I did, but there are so many things in this life that don’t quite make sense at times, and we are here trying to make sense of them all. It sucks, it really does. But what else are you supposed to do about it? I don’t know.
Found the following poem I had written... haven't a clue when.
Your End Has Come
Pop! The sound of a gun going off.
The impace of a bullet hits with a force like the wind being knocked out of you.
The smell of smoke encompasses the very breath around you.
The tears that run down your face are salty to the taste.
The darkness of night cloaks the eye,
Allowing the murderer to escape into the shadows.
You listen, there are sirens, but the are too far away.
As death encloses around you, it begins to strip you of the very senses you enjoy.
Your life is now a motion picture running through your mind.
As death continues to enclose around you,
You feel the shocking, shivering, sickening coldness that is its companion.
The senses that earlier screamed at you to keep fighting, become more dense.
Your breathing becomes labored and very shallow.
As the final moments of death totally encapsulate you, your heart finally stops beating.
The pain is finally over, the sirens have arrived, but alas they are too late.
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