Buried

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The last moment of everyone's life must be so diffrent. The things we make ourselves believe, whatever they are, will send us into a self indused, good or bad, trip. This is what I belive. So it truly depends on the individual for what they want their salvation to be. A heaven for loved ones to go and a hell for hated to burn? Reincarnation? Or even unconsciousness? Either way, we are all buried with diffrent dreams.

Submitted: April 14, 2016

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Submitted: April 14, 2016

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Wish. Wish away, please. I'd like to look and see all the mourning that will flea out of you falling to your knees and whispering onto thee in an absent reality.

I've been through the heat six feet under your seat And telling their not discreet Heaven and hell both cheat By the way that they treat People like labeled meat.

Heavens light is not concrete Just like the feeling of defeat It's not provable even if beat Could keep smiling as I greet All who differ from my ex-p Thinking themselves as more free

This is not the case. Bitter sweet Staring at ceilings, waiting patiently For something to emerge suddenly Taking you away from tendencies That put you in a whole so deep That you'll never get out. Buried


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