The Pitiful Excuse

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 27, 2016

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Submitted: April 27, 2016

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I'm bad at making excuses, lookin at the mirror I see a nuisance,

Even seein me losin, in the dirt is what I'm choosin,

I don't want to go against life beatin bloody and filled with bruises,

So I just sit on my failing ass like its a solid fact,

Purposely trapped, reality and I are heavily gapped,

Rightfully so I don't get clapped, but even with a bullet proof vest rather not get attacked,

Or attached to these suicidal tendencies, became sworn enemies with my goals driven mentally,

I don't have the energy or ability to fight the beast,

So I let my self loathing puncture me while my blood slowly leaks,

I'm discreet when I dream, and very blatantly it seems,

As people seem to know, my riddled live corpse seems to glow,

Following a slow steady flow in the stream of life,

Without bumpin in any rocks just to drown in spite,

Don't you get it when something hits you with a spike,

You stay down, down till the beginning of night,

And wait for the sun to provide that tranquil light,

Because being loomed by the moon will lead to my definite doom,

My hate consumes me, but it's better than succumbing to the fumes.


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