At the end of the day, no one will remember my name.
When the audience leaves and the curtains go down, no one will ever remember I was part of the play.
When I leave the room, no one will remember I used to sit there.
When there is no one around to call a friend, who is going to remember I used to walk the Earth?
When all my wars end and my white flags are stranded on barren land, who is going to write for me?
When things stop happening to me and I start living in a loop, what is going to be the inspiration fountain I drink from?
When my hopes get dry and there's no reason to continue writing, what is going to keep me up at night?
When my writings forget me, when there isn't anybody that once heard about me and no song reminds them of me, who is going to testify I used to be here?
When the night is darker than ever and the stars are my only companion, will I feel lonely or free?
When I truly be left aside, everybody has truly gone and my words get stuck in my throat; I just wish these writings were home.
YOU ARE READING
The ones who could never stay
PoetrySuccess and failure led me to where I am today. I would like to say that it was for the better, that this twisted ending brought me where I'm meant to be, but I have it in me to doubt myself. In spite of toxic men and the death and burial of friends...
