It's my first attemt at an acrostic poem- 


And the body is made to die, a

Very fine specimen, crafted with precision

Arranged into an organism, a

Ruin in making, breathing its way to annihilation

I have seen men try to look for virtuous hardships while

Certain monsters speed drive towards the

End, and every single person is a recipient of turmoil


Organisms hastily heeding towards hell,

Fumbling lunatics with hearts forever on sale


Liars living lovely lives laced in dirt

Ignorantly ignoring the inescapable inevitable doom

Fanatics faking fortune of dream

Evolving just to dissolve into the Death that looms.


It’s an effort to keep on breathing 

Surviving just to end up dying,


But there are those rewards they talk about

Long lists of heavens with different names,

I wonder what kind of stupid game is life 

Suffer throughout it all to end up in a paradise

Suffer to go to a place nobody knows exists. 



This poem is about: 
Our world


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