I sit in the back of the ambulance
hyper aware of the lack of movement
the streets are filled with cars,
cars that won't move
the sirens blare, scream and beg
they beg for a way to the hosptial
they beg for mercy and aid
the cars don't move
they won't move
and I'm aware
that I am dying
that I am dead
I'm dead.
YOU ARE READING
not so bad poetry
PoetryPart 2 of bad poetry, a new book to fill pages and pages of emptiness with ink ready to spill
