Is This It?

Is this it?

Barely remembering what it’s like to be a kid-

Forgetting my first sleepover, my first best friend-

Simply waiting for the end.

Once it was impossible for me to grow old-

No matter how often I was told.

But then I became aware

And it made my insides horribly cold.

None of it’s fair.

We are given a life-

Easily taken by the kitchen’s knife;

The knife used to cut the Thanksgiving meat,

The burnt one everyone would still eat,

On a holiday when at least one child would always weep,

But then they ultimately all went to sleep.

And those meaningless days went on in repeat.

So who cares if you’re honest or you lie,

If in the end we all just die.

Is that all there is?

A wet and sloppy disappointing kiss-

A chronic and constant sigh.

Endless familial fights-

Waking up little children in the dead of night.

A short life.

A nagging wife-

Who complains about all the little things in life.

Choosing to look at only the bad-

Allowing herself to always feel sad.

Is that all there is?

All the memories dripping away-

No matter how you beg them to stay.

Your first vacation, the only one without fights, forgotten in a flash-

Your first kiss, first dance, first everything slashed.

Like a well slowly running out of water-

You’re even beginning to forget the voice of your own father.

And then there’s the moment when all the memories completely fade-

The moment in which your final bed is made.

It’s death you see-

The one thing that will definitely happen to you and me.

I doubt it sets us free-

because really it’s sneaking up on you like a cat.

And then it’s all gone. Just. Like. That.

-writtenworld18

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