Title: Question Mark
The gum in my mouth is stale,
The teacher ahead is in slow motion.
Thoughts flow slowly,
And my phone's ringing with concern.
Friends far away,
Feels like everything has stopped.
Future, present and past are redolent,
Thoughts are constant and eternal.
People dying and screams in my head,
I can feel their hearts stop.
What is our purpose here,
What does our destiny hold?
Death and life are advertised here,
All that matters is getting to the grave.
Feels like an open wound,
Deep and being infested by insects.
These thoughts, these thoughts are
All that remain.
Questions unanswered, answers unquestioned,
What is our purpose here?
Are we the saviours of our world,
Or the destroyers?