Wasting space, carbon, and air.
Wanted to tell everyone a story,
but forgot the punchline.
Typically, every story has a punchline,
didn't you know?
Rough crowd or bad joke?
Chest pains, failing organs,
and trying to age "gracefully".
Trying to grow old and die
like a feather gently falling
into a pile of ****;
Swaying in the wind
and wishing for dignity.
We are.
It makes sense, from a distance
in warm light, starlight, bar light.
Pride is really for the young,
but you don't have to be young
to lose your pride. Doesn't matter.
Failing organs and personalities.
**** do we deserve this.
I don't have much faith in my neighbors,
and they probably think I'm a sociopath.
We're all part of a species
that commits genocide and
calls it war.
Wasting space, carbon, and air.