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Rated: · Poetry · Other · #1695691
Just a little something about how good memories can haunt you.
Eyes for the Blind

Stuck all alone in this crowded room,
Not once fearing, my impending doom.
Surrounded by faces which bear no eyes,
Which speak with mouths, that tell only lies.

Forever I had masked my deepest fears,
Now happy memories are bringing me tears.
Before I sleep, I make my one silent wish,
To quietly receive Death’s comforting kiss.

Grotesque, to the eyeless faces with liars mouths,
But I have seen the way the Reaper prowls.
Often unsatisfied, with the simple taking of a life
He opts to inject twenty cc’s of strife.

He killed the young boy that once was me.
And left a man, broken, frustrated, and angry.
It made me stronger, and tougher than before.
I simply make the wish, that he’d do it once more.

The passion I got, to prove them all wrong,
Simply covered up that little boy, all along.
I softly ask the Reaper to finish the boy off.
Because it hurts me so deep to be this soft.
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