One of my more depressing poems.


Bubbles

Bubbles and people

are much alike.

We are poked

and prodded

Until the pressure

becomes to much

and we pop.

I feel my time

to pop

quickly approaching

but I hold sturdy,

knowing that my popping

will cause others to pop as well.


Plz review. Flames are welcome. Signed or anonomous reviews are welcome.