This Life’s Getting Old

Adamant declarations not to start from beginning to end,

simply start

Suppose the end is the beginning,

contrary to the beginning befalling its deadline

Nevertheless, it matters not, as every day commences as it expires

dark

cold

exhausting

If there is something, then why feel nothing

and if it’s aught, then truly everything is lost forever

One’s desideratum is no longer to be misplaced

Still,

it’s an emptiness that’ll decimate

Inceptions are presumptuously  inundated

hope

love

happiness

Ultimately the dreaded darkness arrives and with it,

the unexpected suffocation of all notions to survive

To not start at the beginning would derail the message

allowing mass interpretations, forsaking the original intent

The end will no doubt have many misconceptions and abandonment is inevitable

hollow

tragic

emotionless

Life is stolen,

all is taken and will never be returned