The Writer Wrote

In her eyes the world started off small and to her surprise
it was a sin to grow old
Age wasn't the purpose of her discovery, rather than the wisdom that came with no recovery
What once used to be a mind of many shades, began transcending to grey after she murdered her rose
colored glasses
Ashes to ashes, she is unable to express or remotely stress how horrifying the rest of the world is
Dust to dust, these forms of beings are resorting to feeding on trends that’s ultimately eating into a
dead end
We justify every reason no matter if it’s rape, slander, or treason- each person is free and
Now we wait for the inevitable
Equality for all-- murderers just came from a broken home, a man that beats his wife was just feeling alone
Do you feel sympathetic? For lack of better words, the writer calls that pathetic
Innocence and ignorance is bliss, what you don’t know, you won’t miss
Here lies a society of fearful, sensitive pricks
Who watch out for themselves, and call the rest hypocrites
What about that could you miss?
This was the last that the writer wrote, but before she ended her note
A red fingerprint placed gently in between quotes

This poem is about: 
Our world


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