Life: a Simple Clichè

It’s true that I survived that awful day
But why I lived, I’ll never really know
Come say whatever words you want to say
They’re only words, and life’s a simple show
It’s simple in complexity like mine
Complexity is simple when we die
Like water that’s converted into wine
Or Death, who nods and simply passes by
The pain of life persists through time, unmatched
When numbness chimes like bells in towered nerves
My shattered bones have all been mended, patched
My poetry finds words my tale deserves
No day is worse than any other day
And life is just a word we find clichè.

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