"Everything Ends Eventually..."

We will all be entombed in worms

What good comes of denying that?

The sooner we accept death,

The better we will feel about living

In the present,

Less hesitant;

Being ready to die,

Does not mean you are suicidal,

And accepting death

Is something to be revered.

Everything ends eventually,

So why try to prolong anything at all?

Because, we are the most selfish beings on this Earth.

We are conscious of an existence,

But unconscious of one another,

And yet we cannot stop.

We consume,

Until we burst.

"Puzzle"

I take each word and study it-

Its nuances, its subtleties,

And arrange them,

Each word is a puzzle piece.

I puzzle myself as I piece together

A thin chain of words,

Until the chain is coated in jewels,

And becomes a necklace.

I wear it until it sinks into my skin,

A tattoo of calligraphy around my neck,

Because every life is a poem.

The first sentence is not formed by you,

But the strings and necklaces of words you wear

Make up the poem you will write,

And form your life,

From the moment you decide to own it

Until the last sentence.

"Worm"

I love this worm:

Unapologetically parasitic.

Apologetically flawed.

I consume all I can, just like it,

And give nothing back.

We sleep many more hours than we wake,

Waiting, meandering,

Hurting, taking,

Everything in sight:

Broken lives,

Stealing light.

But the worm has a purpose,
And I have no right.