Don’t get excited; it’s just the beginning.
You have innumerable events laid out ahead of you
Ones that will rend your heart to a shattered wisp
A brittle, shriveled cocoon,
Like an onion skin.
Each event will claw away a layer or two,
Burn a layer,
Shred a layer.
No, don’t get excited.
You’re going to end up right back here.
A quivering little drop in a vast, vast sea,
Yet blind to the drops around you,
So you might as well be in a desert.
A helpless, sniveling
Pathetic
Infant, but this time you’re not so naïve.
This time, you know better,
So you just tiredly wait.
What do you hope to accomplish?
Pursue?
Some perfect life?
Full of love,
Friendship,
Worldly pleasures?
Pick your poison
Your substitute for joy.
None
Of it matters at the end.
None
Of it can even hope to make a feeble attempt.
Nothing
Will save you from your own vast rift in space.
Similar to that black sea, but god,
At least you weren’t alone there.
You didn’t realize it until now, and what good does it do now anyways?
So don’t get too excited.
Any pleasure is immediately followed by scathing
Buffeting
Wrenching
Winds and blows,
Threefold of what the pleasure was.
And if you were wondering,
No
There is no end to it