Why do you drink?
Why are you such an asshole?
Why do you find it so hard to grow up?
Why does everything about living scare you?
Why don’t you pray anymore?
When was the last time you remember being truly happy?
Why do you never sleep anymore?
Can love still live here, even with all your brokenness?
I don’t know if this poem can go on any longer,
until these mad stumbling questions find suitable answers.
It’s things they’re all dying to know.
And you have to give it to them,
or you will never rest among the bronze gods.
You will never roam the halls of the fame game,
you’ll never be on the level
of those great literary giants,
without really putting yourself out there.
So give them everything you’ve got until the very end.
And even in death,
become a ghost
and never leave the hearts
you so miraculously transformed.
- Ian Morris
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