A short poem about life.
|Build a life. Play house. For what? To die at 78?
Under roofs, behind closed doors. People struggle. We never see it all, but we all struggle.
Reality hits hard, but life hits harder. Crashes down on you like you’d never expect.
Deaths happen every minute, and people are in pain. Constant, constant pain.
Every day I compare my pain to others and see insignificance; I seem to value other’s lives but
Never my own.