14
The End.
A poem by Anonymous (aka Kettlecooked)
Night.
It’s just dark.
Sounds so important.
Nothing.
I don’t actually care.
I don’t care
Whether it’s light or dark
Whether it’s day or night
If my dreams will ever come true
(and trust me, they probably won’t)
Whether my future is secure
Whether or not
I
Will
Ever
Truly
Be
Happy.
Because in the end,
It’s the end.
We say goodbyes,
To ourselves and the good years.
To our friends and their good years.
To memories along the way.
To bad occurrences we all wish to forget.
And all our hope,
Is gone.
G o n e.
G
O
N
E.
Evaporated.
Like our spirit.
And our wits and mind and strength and
All we can do is cry.
Because nothing will ever be the same.
And it’s impossible to change that.
But we can try.
Try.
Try to mess up what’s in store.
Live a little longer.
Have Life.
But is that what we wish to achieve?
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