Little Pieces of a Life Worth Living
A poem asking about life, I think?
Eyes rolling,
Hearts beating,
There's a stench
That the bees
Don't like.
It's a pesticide
For the mind
And it poisons
Quick enough
To kill the canary.
It's rolling
On the bottom
Of its cage.
Slamming into
The white bars.
Dead and gone.
What's left is just
Feathers and dust,
Little pieces of
A life that might
Have been worth
Living, I guess.
The bird is dead
Anyway
So I don't see why
I should wonder
Whether or not
It lived well.
Have I lived well?
Or is my world
A collection
Of moments that
Could've been better?
Are my memories
Worth anything?
Or did I just collect
A bunch of garbage?
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Writer of the dark! Think of it like flipping rocks, the weird little stories underneath are my jam and jelly. Jam and butter? Just jam. Absolutely no use of AI in any of my works :)
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
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