Just when you think you're winning, you're not. So you find yourself reaching for an imaginary Colt .whatever and a bottle of nail polish remover, and just as you are about to polish yourself off, you put it down because, let's face it, everybody's choosing to off themselves. It's no longer the badass thing to do, it's just the thing to do. Nobody wants to be a conformist, right? So you suck it up, deal with it, and move on. Up. It. On. Philosophy of life, right there.
Author notes
Just popped into my head after a frustrating day of life. No real underlying symbolism to it. It is what it is. Unless it's a Hari-Kari situation, or you're dying of a disease that will be very painful for you in your final stages, I really don't see the point of suicide. Everybody has problems.
Critique me please? I mean, really critique me. If you didn't like something about it, for the love of a deity, TELL ME. I can take it if it will help me get better.
Comments
-
Great poem really well written!
-
-
Urgh, why is it always the crappy poems that get praised?
-
Adding your comment:
