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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
boy deals with greif in his own way.

Submitted: December 06, 2006

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Submitted: December 06, 2006



it's three Am and i can't sleep, so i lay in my bed/i think of what you did and all that you have said.

i think; if i was gone would you even care/ if i was ever in need you were never there.

i think of what i hold in my hand/ i wonder if you'll understand.

sometimes the pain is too much to bare/ sometimes i act like i just don't care.

but inside i'm dying/ inside this empty shell i'm lying.

i'm tierd of people acting like i'm no one/ i'm tierd of my mom acting like i'm not her son.

so, now i'm sitting here on my bed/ with a colt 45 cocked and loaded and pointed at my head.

sitting here going through the motions/ tears so big that they could fill oceans.

if you look in my eyes you can see my pain/ that stings the soul like acid rain.

i hate you and you hate me, this life is not worth living anymore/ i always seemed fine but things are different behind a closed door.

these fellings i've tried to hide/ this demon i've tried to keep inside.

i'm tierd of thinking, so, i pull the trigger simply/ "click...." the gun is empty.


© Copyright 2018 mark childress. All rights reserved.

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