The Next Big Thing- by: unknown forgotten

Congruent with falling over
Falling down in the sharp grass
Drunken and tired on your side
Green blades digging into your skin
Itching your skin and crawling up to your brain

You can move but you don't want to
With the sun showering down and all
Slowly turning your clothes into a furnace
Sucking all moisture from you face

What you clutch is not the can of poison
So tightly clenched in your hand already
But the mindless separation from being alive
Like a log, or a rock whose feelings never change

Timeless is the world
But the human soul is short lived
Realistically thinking, how many years do we have left
Is the prime of life really the delight

I once was a youth
The sun gave me my energy to fight through the night
Whats left is about 50 more years
Give or take, more or less

I watch everyone dance around in the sand
They jump over rocks to hide their guilt
Remembering to forget everything they regret
What is it to accept that this is it

What's left is a bunch of wounded beasts
Bleeding themselves to death
Waiting, waiting, waiting for it
Crawling and scrambling until their death

And here I lie in the grass
Not moving an inch because I can't
So impervious to feelings
So out of touch
The sun dries out my skin and warms my heart
Waiting until my years are up