The End

When you die, a lot of people believe you go live up in the sky.

I think your spirit thrives and lives wherever it wants to arrive.

When you die, what will be the legacy you leave behind?

Will you die in bed due to the swelling bad thoughts in your head?

Just another planned suicide.

Will you die in front of a pint, after the night was surprisingly alright?

Until you didn’t feel ill, waking up only to realize you’re not home, you’re just another school girl writing a poem.

He was just another deadbeat white trash junkie anyway.

A legacy is a lie.

Public indecency will never die.

They don't know what lies behind closed doors.

Maybe you died the bad guy.

But when you were alive, you were derived from the Queen of England.

They only know what they’re told.

Doesn’t it get old?

This poem is about: 
Our world

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