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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Drama · #1217295
I wrote this some years after my mom died, refusing medical help.
All these years I've been repressed
Feelings that were unaddressed
Boiling and bubbling down inside
Buried in my hole, I hide
It's a grave I dug myself
The day you left me on the shelf
And you hung me out to dry
So that you could up and die

I think about you often
Petal pink inside your coffin
Your memory strategically
Lunges out to strangle me
Your hands are talons
The claws are pink
You're well-preserved
But you still stink
You stuffed my heart all full of stones
And now you're just a bag of bones

I wish that you would tell me why
You had to make the choice to die
Everything is out of sync
As I remember you in pink
You look as pretty as a rose
So fragile as you decompose
And I'm the only one who knows
That sometimes I can hear your voice
I block it out - you made your choice
You took responsibility
For never coming back to me.
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