"What happens when you die?"

Most people feel too awkward to reply

But I like to ask it to peel back layers

Small talk is for uninterested fakers


Some say reincarnation

Others say eternal life or damnation

I used to think we were reborn

Because the concept of dying is so foreign


My ideologies change daily

And they've started to change again lately

I asked my friend Clay what he thought might be

Clay didn't answer, instead he asked me


"Do you remember anything before your life?"


"No, all we've ever known is life."


"Well that's what it's like when you die."


This idea troubled me, but made sense

Life is dirty, but in death we are cleansed

There's relief in every struggle, resolution after each fight

So isn't darkness just as okay as light?


This poem is about: 
Our world


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