Untitled Poem by Mary Keat

My heart is cold,
My thoughs are old.
My heart is not there,
My thoughs are in the air,
In this life I dont care.
Raise your arms,
Face your pain,
And all lifes' shames.
Live this life,
Live this game.
They all torture the ones like us,
They all make such a big fuss,
I dont see why they do but I just guess they must.
But life is life,
So we have to live it...
We have no choice.
If we all killed ourselves it would do no good,
But it would cause more pain,
It would bring you no gain.
If you die,
Some else will die...
Just so they can join you.
Then somebody else will do the same so they are not alone,
And it will go on and on untill they are all gone.
Then thats it.
Its over...we lost,
We gave in.
We showed weakness,
And what did that do,
But cause a big mess.