Lets pretened, just for a sec,
That we're weak and on the verge of death.
Maybe murdered, or smothered or drowned.
Maybe we're gone, our bodies unfound.
But let's pretend we're at deaths door,
That waiting here is SUCH a bore,
But going on means end of life,
We wish that we had seen less strife.
But take my advice, listen for a bit.
When you're at deaths door... Don't open it.
YOU ARE READING
Poison, by any other name is just as deadly: Poetry
PoesíaDark poems about death and sadness. I write them to get anger out of my system do I can live more happily. I post em so you can get all depressed.
