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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #940405
I am not to be what was, is, or is to be.
I think I'm dying
My knees are weak
As I walk
Moving slow and silent
I fall, the cliff is steep
Its blood-covered ridges
Slipping, as I go along
Twirling in the air
Forcing my arms out to the mountain
I was told that
If I keep going the way I was going
Eventually I'd come to a bad end
I've hit that end
It's cold and lonely at the bottom
It's cold and lonely at the top too
My brow is wet
My heaving stops
I am released from my tired body
I am done
No more am I here
Evermore will I be
Cold and dark
Cold and lonely
A salad of races
A tomb of mixture
I am doomed to be what I am
I am what I feared
I fear what I am
I no not how it began
Nor how to end it
When you think you know
Exactly how it is going
Turn back, you are what is not to be
You can smell the hatred in the air
I travel in a cold pocket
People can hear the pain in my voice
And the humor
They identify with me
With what I say
I was not born
I was not made
I am here for no reason
Maybe, I'll just fade
Stick in a chair
Just jell in that one spot
No more, no more
Meaningless is life
Am I this to be doing?
Not me, somebody else
Somebody special
I'm not special
I am finished
Take me not
While there is still light
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