a poem

THE DEFINITION OF CERTAIN WORDS

I’ve met people that could never be real. Because if they were real the world would make less sense than it already does. For some people to live others must die. One in one out. Like that. No one stays too long and everyone is happy.

People haven’t been happy in so long that the idea of “happy” might not be real at all. Like “happy” is a made up thing, in the way that Jesus and Santa are also made up. Not real but believed in. You can’t be happy if you don’t understand the meaning of the definition.

All language is a lie. And people are the worst liars ever. Some of them. Probably all of them.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being that wasn’t almost immediately overshadowed by the fact that they will soon be dead. That everyone dies and no one is any more special than anyone else.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being that didn’t make it seem like they were cheating in some way. Like they found a way to be better than everyone else.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being that wasn’t made up. That human beings are more pretend than anything else.

Nothing good has ever happened to a human being because what is “good” when you know sometime soon you might be dead. That you can live your whole life and be good and happy and that you will still die in the end.