Inevitable future
I will be forgotten. In not too many years (compared to how old the universe is) I'll probably be dust. I wont have anyone to hold because I'll literally be compost. Me, I will be compost. The one who is writing right at this very moment will be nothing. This makes me feel odd. The love, the grades, money, feelings will literally be thin air. How does this inevitable future pass by our minds every day? Is it a good thing? We can't change anyting about it, maybe that's why I'm curious.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world