The Same Ending

I wrote this poem a while ago, reflecting on the shared human experience and the certainty that one day we will all die. While that idea can feel heavy, I see it as a reminder to appreciate the time we have and the lives we touch along the way.

See you with the worms 

Living. To be human is an illusory pleasure.

Experiencing involuntary thoughts, remaining conscious of their presence.

Holding the ability to veer its trajectory, but choosing to sit with the torment.

Pressing wildflowers in pages of books I haven't read.

Attempting to derive purpose from the monotonous ebb and flow of echoing time.

Late nights overthinking past mistakes and future prospects.

The future. Scared of growing up, growing old. Death, dying. Gone, forgotten.

To feel something. To hurt.

Self-destruction masked as self-improvement.

I picked up a rock to carry home, cradling it with conviction. 

I long to be held that close. 

Death is certain. Our existence is temporary and fragile. 

How beautiful knowing it’s our only true shared experience.

We’re all fucked, enjoy the ride. 

See you with the worms.