My life is poetry

My life is poetry,
Compared to information in a sentence,
Mine is a composition of nonsense,
Like raindrops on a rainy day,
Words spouted inevitably,
Long pharagraphs without commas,
Stories without ending added increasingly,
A piece waiting for its termination,
Words on paper without end,
Written with blood, sweats, pencil or a pen,
Tales without chronology,
The last thing I’d have is probably an eulogy,
Like a dialouge,
Waiting for a period at the end of a conversation,
Each page is filled with corruption,
A death, a breakup, a heartbroken situation,
A cry for help, trapped in dejection,
Put it in perspective,
My life is meant to be reflective,
Of who I am, who I was and who I’m supposed to be,
Darkness within a body,
Given the chances I could’ve end,
But I didn’t,
If my life is poetry, then I’d have a semi colon,
No matter how bruised, beat up or swollen,
An early end with be without meaning,
And so, I kept living.

Someone who writes a lot of poetry. Shit or not, they're mine. I'm also a lazy ass traveler. Stick and stone may break my bones, but staircases, they get me.
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