Perspective by Max Heyl

The milk went bad. It always goes bad. Everyone expected it to go bad. It was 2%. My friend died. People always die. Nobody expected my friend to die. She was 47.

One of these lines is funny. The other one evokes sadness. It’s hard to tell which is which. Everything dies. Sometimes we laugh it off. Other times we cry. Wondering, why them? Wondering why me?

I spilled my drink. It was around 1pm. There were smoothies everywhere. It was at a Starbucks. He spilled their guts. It was around 3am. There was blood everywhere. It was in an alley.

Perspective is a funny thing

I can’t tell if this poem is funny or sad. It could be both. Sometimes I wonder if there’s life after death. Yesterday I was wondering if C.J. Beathard could have just walked it in for the touchdown instead of throwing that incompletion.

Two children fight over a toy. One is 6 and the other is 7. Will it even matter in a couple years? Two children fight over a job. One is 74 the other is 77. This one probably matters, to be honest.

Perspective is a funny thing.

I said ‘I love you,’ to her. I walked out of the house. I took my sister to school. He told her that he loved her. He walked out on them. He quit his job at the school.

Perspective is a funny thing.

I cried today thinking that I was a failure and a waste of space. He cried today thinking about not being able to reach that cookie from the jar.

Perspective doesn’t seem that funny anymore.