A Note for the Witness
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Poem by: poempaperkate
A Note for the Witness
I saw my brain on the glass before I died.
I caught my own eye in the last breath.
I didn’t look for my killer
and I didn’t want to meet her,
the first exchange in nineteen years,
with a fresh bullet wound.
So, I thought of the person
to come across my body:
My wallet’s in my bag,
where you’ll find my name
and less than forty dollars.
Do what you wish.
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