Poetry · Writing

living on saturn-

brisk breeze is a pattern

bringing bad news is your pattern

can’t catch a break find me on saturn

never coming back to earth it is a disaster

it is the end i guess

the earth looks flat from up here

tear in my eye end of fears

no worries from humans

when humans never existed

twisted-

i never worried about the end

it will come when it comes and i will have front row seats

meeting me in the lobby

and i am gone;

 

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