“Life was made to be suffered”
I can see it another way
All things are temporary
Even those that last to the end of forever
Have the lifespan of about three syllables;
Birth, breath, and death
differences of a two letter movement.
Is there joy to be found in always asking why?
A question unanswered eternally while
the clock counts the minutes until ashes
we all fall down, we all fall down
into this black hole, spiraling
naming it “life” makes no consequence of
the tortures we choose to take,
the games we make to play to escape
this reality of falseness and hoaxes –
It’s really all a conspiracy, isn’t it, baby?
I wonder where you are now –
would you listen if I tried to show you
the contest that we sustain
in our endless search for truth
of which you can’t ever know yourself?