Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Helen Baker Aug 2017
Life is ephemeral like pink cherry blossom flowers.
Lasting briefly oh isn't it beautiful?  Bittersweet?
Fate a short book, when written could be read in just mere hours.
The last page is the end of it all, accept your defeat.

For no one is immortal, eventually we die.
Its just a fact of life, when you are gone, take your last breath,
Memories and all that you know and love is left behind.
Dust covers graves, and covers minds, they've forgotten your death.

But why care? You're six feet under the ground they walk upon.
Their feet kiss your corpse as they step on what's become of you.
Pitter patter, footsteps innocent, for what they're stepping on is gone,
The only thing left is bones, no heart beats, lips cold, pale blue.

People prefer to pretend life isn't a total mess.
But in reality everyone's mind is wrecked, corrupted
They say you're important, but when you're gone you're not missed.
The cruel ways they talked will still go uninterrupted
Helen Baker Jul 2017
I fell in love with the boy with hot chocolate eyes and long coffee lashes.

The boy who strums his guitar by day and writes stories by night.

I fell in love with the boy whose heart is made of gold and classic cars.

The boy whose kisses are a mix of  sugar and ecstasy.

But most importantly the boy I fell in love with fell in love with me too.

— The End —