There is no hope in death.
It is absolute.
You try so hard to figure it out but you can’t,
all you can do is live, continuing to breathe.
There is nothing to feel guilty for, because nobody is there anymore.
We are warm and they are cold,
angry at this for happening at all.
Whistling to the wind,
all around is dark,
your grief is like shrieking into an empty room.
You can’t warm their shivers,
and guilt will always follow your happiness from now on.
There’s nothing to fight for anymore.
They are gone.
They are gone.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
There is no hope in death.
It is absolute.
You try so hard to figure it out but you can’t,
all you can do is live, continuing to breathe.
There is nothing to feel guilty for, because nobody is there anymore.
We are warm and they are cold,
angry at this for happening at all.
Whistling to the wind,
all around is dark,
your grief is like shrieking into an empty room.
You can’t warm their shivers,
and guilt will always follow your happiness from now on.
There’s nothing to fight for anymore.
They are gone.
They are gone.
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