That mundane drip is so torturous.
The end is inevitable,
each second,
each breath
each drip.
Is it not beautiful?
With death comes life.
After ever winter
comes a spring.
Our expiration is approaching.

Drip drop goes the clock,
slowly ebbing away at our existence.
As humanity slowly wears away into nothingness,
we pray to any available deity,
for more wind-chill,
for one drip longer.

We are all destined to die.
We just hope
To leave more of an impression
on society
than an inevitable puddle
destined to wash away
when tomorrow comes.