Memories

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Memories

 Deep in thought,
but no satisfaction,
I have to breathe,
have to take action.
The bullet slows down
as it nears my head,
I wake up crying and shrieking in bed.
The night of her death puts me in depression.
She never even answered
 my one only question.
I stall my room
like a starving creature.
I don't understand why I can't reach her.
Death reaches out
and I finally reach back.
"Is it finally time?"
But I already know the answer.

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Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

Lissi’s Poems (5)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Island Full of Us 0
Gone 0
"Samantha" 0
Feeling 0
Memories 0

Lissi’s Friends (1)