Ideology of a Realist

I was born a human

That’s what I was,


And will always be.

My feet walk this Earth

The seasons change

I continue to age

Every day.

A spoon to my mouth

I eat


Food is fuel

Yet I have no energy.

I lay in bed

Create pictures on the ceiling

Why look out the window?

It’s all the same scenery.

Music feeds the soul

So I turn it up loud

But I’m starving

I can’t hear

I can’t see

Only this empty room

But that’s all I need

No need to make friends

I’m content being alone

And when I die

It’ll just be me


Nothing but black

I’ll lay in the grave

Decompose and rot

Eventually my bones

Will be a pile of dust

Because that’s all life is

I was born to die

And once it’s all over

Nothing will matter.

I’m tired of rhyming

Deep meaning

Making everything beautiful

For your own pleasure

So fuck poetry

Because nothing

Any of us say


This poem is about: 
Our world


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