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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
State of ourselves, of this world

Submitted: April 20, 2007

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Submitted: April 20, 2007




I'm afraid

so afraid

the cold slithers

beneath me

fills every pore

finds any space

won't let me rest

or give me grace...



it's laughter shrill

forcing me to swallow

its venomous pill

I cry and shout

but no-one hears

it wipes the floor

drying my tears...


I've lost the plot

it's lost me

I climbed the tree

so I could see

but now I know

what I didn't then

that grown men cry

or count to ten

they hide their tears

conceal their eyes

to suffer in silence

this their disguise...


This world's been bruised

it's head contused

it's losing it's face

wears a veil of digrace

all acting crazy

can't see it's too hazy

get ready to run

get ready to hide

before you know it

they'll be right

by your side...


We don't understand

we don't demand

we've lost our rights

we've blurred our sights

the night is falling

the earth's round no more

it's shadows creeping

land on our front door

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