Does birth always have to be so violent?
Does death always have to seem so messy?
We enter the world among showers of blood,
we leave in much the same manner.
Beginnings and endings, we all have them.
Even the earth was born, somehow, some time.
Each day is different than the last,
each minute nothing like the one before.
Is life a circle? A square? A line?
I often wonder about the moment
when humanity will run out of time.