"Death is inevitable".
The phrase has circled through my lips to my ears and back again too many times to count.

Maybe it's a sick kind of hope. "Death is inevitable. My suffering is temporary. Everything I despise so much about myself will end".

Maybe it's an excuse. "Death is inevitable. One day, there will be no tomorrow. Why be concerned with building a future that will get demolished".

Maybe it's a reminder, to be strong. "Death is inevitable. Life is a millisecond in an eternity of nothing. I can't afford to let it pass by".

Maybe it's the simple act of recognition of an ugly reality as it is: naked, terrifying. "Death is inevitable. Life is meaningless. I am dust".

Or maybe it's just the silent screams of a childish mind slowly going into insanity. "Death is inevitable. Death is inevitable. Death is inevitable".

Still dancing around
the fire, no longer burning.

What reason to smile
could they have found.

What dream so lucid
they forgot the shaking.

What feeling so strong
to silence the ground.

Can't they smell the ashes,
the stench of the void.

Can't they see the wasteland,
the decades of hurt.

Can't they hear the crying
of the burning soldiers.

The sea of regrets
buried under the dirt.

Don't they realise-
no, they are busy.

Collecting hopes and wood
to fill up the space.

Pretending to mean it,
but they are all liars.

Yet again building
a new fireplace.

I'll give you everything,
because I'm selfish.
I'll steal from you
every smile I can.

Oh, what wonderful ways will I find today,
to thoughtlessly waste my time away.

People love to love,
But love's love is quite little.
I prefer hating love,
Because love hates people.

Love is a parasite,
A drug at it's best.
When's the last time
It gave you any rest?

It demands and demands,
What does it give in return?
It's no wonder people say,
That love can "burn".

But it doesn't really matter,
So I say, to each their own.
You can try living together,
But you'll still die alone.

Some people think it's a line,
some people think it's a surface,
some people think it's a dot,
devoid of change or purpose.

Some people think it's squishy
and that every touch,
could have made so things,
wouldn't be as such.

Some people think it's hard,
and that as much as you try,
you can't change the direction,
of a single butterfly.

some people think it's like breadcrumbs,
and if you look hard enough,
you could trace it back,
to when things weren't as tough.

We think of time many things,
imagination knows no limits,
and so we tend to forget,
time is just passing minutes.

So… you have a dream, a passion, a burning feeling that if only you can get that job, or become famous, or get rich, or be a doctor, or make that startup, or write that book… then you will have it all, you will be complete, or at the very least… it will make you happy.

So you work, you work hard because you know that the key to success is determination… there are some days that you want to give up, but that is to be expected, after all, nothing worth doing is easy, right? It does not matter how difficult it is… because you know it’s not about now, it’s about later… it’s about how great you’ll feel once you finally accomplish that dream of yours.

And before long, you’ve become bitter… you are so focused on moving forward, so locked in this tunnel vision, not being able to look behind you... all that’s real to you is to keep going ahead, ahead, ahead… and this place? the now? it’s just a stop along the way, and so are all those pesky long years that came before it… clearly, this is all leading up to some grand final, your dream… the thing that will validate all the long days spent working towards whatever it is you want, something that will validate you, or so you keep telling yourself.

And one day, perhaps you give up… or perhaps, you find that you’ve arrived, you are finally here, you’ve achieved whatever it is you wanted… you celebrate, you feel amazing for a day, maybe for a week, maybe you are still content after a month or two… until… ever so slightly, so slightly you barely even notice… it all becomes boring to you, and now, you reflect, and you take in the meaninglessness of your achievement.

And then, one day… you get a dream, a burning sensation you cannot describe that if you can get that job, or become famous, or get rich, or be a doctor, or make that startup, or write that book… then you will have it all, you will be complete, or at the very least… it will make you happy.