Life is a wild drunk.
We are its daily shots of alcohol,
hoping to satisfy every urge and want.
Slowly sipping us out of our bottles of comfort,
’till we’re wasted and lost in an emptiness we can never recover from.
Life is a chainsmoker.
We are its stacks of weed,
prepared to get tied down in comfort paper.
Only to slowly burn us out into ashes,
as we dwell comfortably in this perfectly rolled piece of discomfort.
Blunt to our emotions.
Life is a drug addict.
We are its dose of pills and portions,
Every dose is a step closer to insanity.
Addicted to the feeling, the hurt never stops.
Life is mentally precarious.
We are its medium for getting through its hurt.
Life’s as disappointing as Santa on Christmas Eve.
Maybe Life’s heartbroken.
Once, a companion it had but now all alone and sad.
We don’t make mistakes.
Life sits in an empty room with supplies,
creating events, situations and mistakes unknown to our knowledge.
Life is imperfect.
No, Life is all about imperfections.
By Omale Rex