Not a Game

To live,

To die.

Everybody always asks 'why?'

But it's a fact of life.

It's all the same.

It's how I feel when

Playing the game.

To love,

To hate.

Isn't that what happens when we date?

We have a best friend

Supposedly until the end.

That's all we ever said,

'Until the end'.

The end of what?

Life?

Strife?

Love?

Something from above?

Is there more than what we have today?

When will we learn that love is not a game to play?

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world

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