My (Fake) Son

My (Fake) Son

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WpMetadataReadComplete Sun, Sep 4, 2011<5 mins
I recently found out that I have a slight (very small) chance of concieveing a child. Since I don't have anyone to talk to I decided writing would be my way out. So he's my poem about loving your child no matter what he/she turns out to be.
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Save Me

I was drowning. I knew that. I also knew that the hands around my throat, pushing me deeper into the river water was the cause. What I didn't know was who was drowning me and why. It hurt thinking. It hurt to do anything right now. But I still screamed under the cold water and pushed the hands away as hard as I could. It didn't have much effect. I fought and fought, but I was getting weaker, and colder. The pain was overbearing. I couldn't breathe. It was the worst pain imaginable; and as the hands that were around my neck were forcibly ripped off by some unknown force, I slipped deeper into the depths of the river. My hair was straight above me along with my arms. My eyes were open and the water burned. A darkness started to pull me under, taking the pain away. I felt a small pressure around my waist, before the darkness completely consumed me. The last thing I remember is thinking, save me.

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