I am one day older. July 17
My mother has another year
To her name. The sun has risen,
But time is setting – I am
Getting further away from the
Closest thing I had to bliss.
There is something beautiful
And desirable about ignorance,
Something I possessed only as an
Infant, yet I would ****
To hold it once more. **** –
That proves it. Just how far
Am I from those illusive years?
When I was little, nature's
Corpses would be buried with care,
And we would whisper words
To the Earth about who we had lost.
Now, pests are killed by my will,
And handled with disgust.
Yet, I envy them. Their lives,
So easy to dispose of, and mine,
Neverending. But I am the same
As a common moth.
Crush me.