Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2014
Good and bad come and go, but we’re all just dying.
So is it worth it to hate? To love?
Is living a prize or a punishment?
I fear is that there’s no escape – even suicide can’t ensure that the cycle will end.
Is this torture or virtue?
Is it even worth it to find out?
Does it matter? And if it doesn't?
Is this life or is this death?
Is the glass still there, because I can’t decide if it’s half empty or half full?
Will my life always symbolize a void – same as every other person on this earth?
Do I mean something or am I lifting others to the top of this metaphoric pyramid?
Will I ever find out? Would it change anything?
Is it bad to change or stay the same?
Are we living to die or dying to live?
Are we doing this wrong?
Am I thinking too much or not thinking enough?
Do I scare too easily or not enough?
Am I enough or not even close?
I fear that I will live my life dying.
Written by
Please log in to view and add comments on poems