i will not speak to the holy one
they always told me that i'd have to chose.
i could either go to a desolate place of pain,
or a place of perfection.
did i want to chose?
is a life of perfection even worth living?
what about trial and error?
they didn't care what i felt.
they were there to "spread the word".
meanwhile i was there trying to get through the day without drowning
in all peoples' misery.
now i'm telling them that i won't chose.
i will be immortal in heart, soul, and memory.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world