Just a Writer

I watched everything I held dear

splinter, break into a million 

pieces, my life turned upside 

down and nothing anybody said

or did helped me. 

I ate, drank, slept and smoked, 

becoming the king of all zombies, 

a being who loved closed spaces 

and hated the sunlight, 

a brooding vampire scared of 

venturing outside because

he knows he’ll catch fire. 

Could I have done anything 

differently? I ask myself, 

but I know now 

that irrespective of if I made my 

choices or if someone else

made them for me, 

I would have seen the same misery 

because we’re placed in particular 

points in the grand scheme of things 

to serve some greater plan

and what we do or don’t 

always aligns with it, 

and I guess this was my purpose, 

to endure by existing, 

to move on without strength, 

to fade to black.