Do I have a life, have a soul,
Or am I nothing more than flesh on bone?
I live, I think, I breath, I know,
But in years to come I'll be food for crows.
Is life worth a life of living?
But we are followed by Death, grinning.
So ditch your regrets, and keep your trust,
Because in a hundred years we'll all be dust.
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@overskill
S'up. I'm Overskill, and I write fantasy stories and some very abstract poems. Read some.
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