Dry

Bitter, Dry, Tasteless.  Life has become not longer humerous but, a bitter memory, a dry exspereance, a tastless undertaking. No hope, no love. Fake smiles, fake laughs. Real pain and real loss. Nothing is beautiful, everything is a lie death is the only comfort, life a stupid pointless journy only delaying the inevitable fact that we all will die and no one will remember our names, no matter who you are death is the ture king, the ture god and he cares littile for us at all.   

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741