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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1007877
It is a way of looking at something that has happened or what could of happened.
I wish that there was some way out of here, out of this life, out of this world.
Maybe you could come visit me, from wherever you may be.
We could laugh just like we always did, and run, and jump, and play,
but I dont think that is possible while I am bringing flowers to your grave.
I need you more than ever now, with the court and the jail and the home.
Maybe if I was the one who got shot, my world wouldnt be coming undone...
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