The War of the Ages

We are our own demise.

We are killing ourselves,

In hopes of one day being better.

Because now we are terrible.

And with each breath exhaled,

We release the pain built up within.

Only to inhale and feel the same.

And then the cycle repeats.

Our loneliness eats away at us.

Because we don't know what to do

Except feel isolated from humanity.

Even when we're surrounded by people.

In the end, we just make chaos.

And bleed out discord.

And never find meaning.

Even though meaning is created.