Eleven

Why was I ever here

Was there any meaning

At eleven we always go to heaven

Contradiction in terms

Which is perfect for propaganda

Confused overused poet writing

Messed Up

Writing continuously

Throughout the night

Throughout the day

I have nothing to say

We are here

Life is so good

Life is so bad

We just run through life

Repeating our ancestors

Mistakes and indisescretion

This is a day

When everything changes

All charges

All fears

Gone

But only for a

Short, short moment

The light is crystal clear

Tired less and merciless

Only darkness kept a blissful

Peace

Now forever gone