Poems

The road ahead

At one point,
It all came crashing down,
The dreams, the ambitions.
They fell like broken glass,
On the road ahead,
And nobody said that it'd be fine.
I walked bare foot
over the road of despair,
comforting myself,
telling myself that yes,
This is life.

This was life,
my blood on the glass,
over the road ahead,
and the shattered pieces
of what I once wanted.

I couldn't run,
The demons behind me
forced me-torturously-to walk.
I had to revel in the pain
of every shard,
every prick,
and every dream.
I couldn't cry
because this was life,
because others had it worse.
And yet I was told
that I'm too young
and life hasn't hit me yet,
that I'm too old,
and I couldn't cry at pain.
Believe me,
if life has not yet struck,
by all means,
hand me over
to the loving arms of death,
for death has no qualms
ending it once and for all,
unlike cruel life,
which killed me
a million different ways
every single day.