All my poems have death in them
Does that make me crazy? Morbid?
I searched for the answer
But the page was not found
Although I want beauty to remain forever
And the kiss of life to always revive
Every house built must fall
And every city that thrives must die
I distract myself with chores
Does picking my nose count? No?
I could deliver pizzas in my spare time. Hire me.
I am amiable when I don’t write about death
You offer to lend me a hand that I didn’t ask for
But look, I have already gone my own way
No. Not really. I am right here.
Picking my nose and writing about death.