it's my first ever poem written in a high school i dont go to
It's all or/and/is nothing.
if i stuck a dagger in my chest, could i call it suicide?
though by technicality it is, in reality i'm not the only one who dies.
there's intentional collateral, cut my chest to spite my face.
my target stays a specter still, this must not be the place.
i tried to kill a dead man, to beat around the burning bush.
i'll wander on full circle, wond'ring how the destination looks.
so if this is all that life is, what did i expect from death?
maybe life's the real eternal rest,
maybe all this nothing's for the best.