All these boxes full of the things I own,
leaving this town of all I've known.
Leaving behind my friends family.
It's a means to an end.
I have no idea when,
I'll become what I'm supposed to be.
Every now and then,
I question my sanity.
To be or not to be,
That is all they keep asking me.
They tie noose,
And every time I cut it loose just to be strung again,
And I have a fear,
of being stuck here,
of being set in stone,
And spending forever alone.
Finding a place to be myself,
As I look at the memories upon my shelf
Holding on to these things too tightly,
Afraid to let them slip away,
Just watching as they decay.
Someone once told me,
The meaning of life, is Death.
There is one thing that I know,
That the meaning of Death,
Is just letting (you) go.
YOU ARE READING
Things I Know
PoetryThis is a book of poems that I wrote when I was going through a pretty damn tough time, and I showed them to a friend of mine and she said that they were really good. She told me that I should make a book and so I did. I don't think that they are th...
