A shadow of silhouettes

Born To Die

Born to die
Do we put question marks?
Where God placed a period.
Do we waste our pain away?
Instead of using it to resolve and help others
Or do we just choose to try and mend ourselves together with whimsical stitches
I guess, we shall all figure it out when we die

I always remember so vividly the words Grandma used to recite
She had a smug smile on her face
Whilst she shouted with great joy
Ululating into the condensed atmosphere
“We were all born to die “
You can only imagine how it affected me as a child
The way I viewed society as a hole
Questioning death and life as whole
It all brought about a sense of mixed idée fixes I couldn’t fathom….

The fear of pure resentment lingered in my esophagus
Dilating my canon sized pupils
To the fear of the unknown
Truly that distant cathedral was all I could see,
As my fractured angel face departed from me
Truly my facts were the enemy of truth.
Unbothered his languid fingers traced my skin
Leaving within me a sense of emptiness
Whispering ever so slightly, slowly venomously
“We were all born to die “
However, it’s sickening to think
We don’t know who we are
As we die for petty unfortunate miscarriages
All envisioned by our fickle freckled mind

We were all born to die (yes)
However, I figured I had to live
Why?
Well simply because I found something as meaningless, senseless
And melancholic as a PURPOSE …...

Ever so slightly slipping my mind
As pieces of shattered glass splashed upon the floor
A thought can be in the form of a dove
I remember it being light, gentle and eerie
As I inhaled the still air
Between the heaves of a storm in an adjoining room
I believe I cut my cloth according to the length of my coat …...