My life is like a ball of glass
Filled with nonsense, filled with crass
Its crystal texture shows no lines
The pristine surface gently shines
Sometimes the smoke may blind my eyes
My mind gives in to futile lies
The truths or falsities that rise
May someday be my own demise
They only serve to harm my cause
These lies, they only prove my flaws
They bring about a stealthy pause
While I sharpen up my claws
The tearing truth throws wide the door
No smoke to cloud it evermore
The silver ball that is my life
No longer blocked by hate and strife
This is the first poem I ever wrote; in retrospect it wasn’t very good (at all), but that’s the point of living: you suck less and less up until the very end. Thanks for reading.