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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a poem written in the low point of my depression.

Submitted: April 12, 2017

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Submitted: April 12, 2017



I lay there, too pained to care. And I stare up, looking at the stars  I wish things were better, it's a cold night but it is not too bad of weather, I try to be happy as you see above, but as my words spill to letters, I show hate to who I once loved. Life decieves, at least I percieve, sadness is like a disease, it holds what I want and uses it to tease, I beg please, but it always has on me, Calmly. I'm not a puppet, I say it empty, because not even I believe me. I snap back, while the night was still black. I realize life wont change, but there is one thing I can do to rearange. One thing I can do, to soothe the raving pain. Last I wish, for none to have anguish. My family is dead, my only friend is dead, and now i will feel nothing as i release the loaded lead.

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