And Barely Any Trace


This is it

The culmination

Of barely anything

 

The blackness is inevitable

So why not hurry the process

The skin is rotting already

 

And I still can’t stop biting

Living with guilt

For something I have yet to do

 

My right of passage:

Putting a pistol to my head

And pulling the trigger

 

So why don’t I feel

Anymore mature?

Rituals are meaningless

That much I am sure

 

So now it is time

To join Confucius

And become another name

Without a face

4 thoughts on “And Barely Any Trace

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