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Rated: · Poetry · Death · #1689933
this about someone who dies by having tight grips restrict there breathing.
see through my eyes

you'll find no lies

only the truth

that'll blow your roof

a happy soul,

that's my destined role

people think i'm mental

no 'm not for rental.

please don't tighten the grips

my ability to breathe slips

this is my last chance

i glance my last glance

my eyelids flutter

and my life is slowely closing the shutter

now my world has turned black

and i know theres no way back.
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