I sit here,
Like a beetle on it's back
In a crack of it's own design
Crafted it's own demise
Frantically flailing
Panicking mainly
Legs going every witch way,
Becoming to heavy
To reach out for help
No voice to call out for help
Though it tries
Not knowing it's already dead
Hope is the first thing that dies
Moments from the cruel hand dealt
By life itself
Exposing itself
As deaths right hand man
Still we fall for the bluff
And the universe doesn't listen to
"Enough is enough"
If you don't like it
Tough

©2025