Concerns: Post-Apocalyptic

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Suicide note.

Submitted: April 11, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 11, 2009

A A A

A A A


The room had a womb-like feel
Shades drawn like flags at half mast
And here is where I collapsed
A pile of worthless filth and stink
If I were only smaller I'd crawl down the sink
But Alas
I've given up on chasing the past

And my temperature was boiling over
Youread me my last rites
And the bomb ignites
What wonderful feeling to be alive?
I thought that I heard you cry
But alas
Baby breathed her last

What does it feel like if your brain gets sick?
I feel like my body is too overused
But maybe I'm confused
And the startling thing my dear
Was we were both shaky between the ears
But Alas
Please just try to see that pass

Where will I go when this is over
You made me believe in Heaven and Hell
But I believe it's just a spell
I wish that I could give you direction
When you're stuck at the intersection
But Alas
I lost my compass


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