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The Remains

Poetry By: Love Reaper

Death is a lovely gift everyone fears.

Submitted:May 21, 2010    Reads: 44    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   

I want to say something witty.
But I can't.
I want to describe the agony that I feel,
But there are no words found in my dictionary.

I feel deserted,
But I've been alone all along,
I want to relinquish my past,
But then I keep seeing your face.

We were never meant to be...

I have lost my words,
That once mattered most.
My Identity,
I am not even an entity.

But my enmity,
Is on full blast.
For I have forsaken not you,
But me.

All my doors have caved in on me,
What now remains is timed white walls,
Pale, empty,
Ready to crack as I am.

Can you feel me?
My desperate need to feel?
Can you hear my cries?
I mourn more than I know I should.

Yearning for amnesia,
I remember, feel, smell, see...
And I self-destruct.

Is it as hard for you,
As it is for me?
Do you pretend to not care,
More than me?

For I have no place for death,
I have consumed it,
For I am deader than death itself,
Death has no use for me.

In each of these,
Four little lines,
They all suicidally grieve,
I love you.


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