We press on

Everything ends over time.
Mountains crumble, seas dry up
and hearts are broken.
So how do we press on?

Our lives are in constant flux
never knowing what happens next.
We throw on our best faces
running straight into the darkness

And we press on

Our arms are filled with scars
memories of the past.
Forever there for us to see
reminding us each day of our loss.

And we press on

How long can we press on for?
Constantly in a strut of self-pity
with no hope of ever getting out.
Will we survive?

Can we survive?
Is their point in survivng?
Is their point in life at all?
Why try to survive?