Do all good things come to an end?

This has been on my mind, for quite sometime
How we are wasting away our life, in the prime
Sheilding away the pain from the past
hoping that, it’s intensity shant last

with a pint of pain, are those awesome memories
those happy days, now just plain stories
but sealing away the pint took away what was good
we thought we did right, but were misunderstood
Why do we keep it all sealed in a mental closet?
Why do we want to let go and forget?
Doesnt survival from those gruelling times imply
that we can’t just outlive , but as well get by?

The harder i shut the door, the stronger the seal
The more the poison of pain, shifted thro’ my veins
the more i felt safe, the more i was vulnerable
the more i ran away, the further sucked into the spiral

Like the thorn and the flower thrive as one
so must pain and  the joys long gone
We must break past the rut of pretend
and stop wondering, whether good things come to an end


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