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The Morose Chronicles
Narrow Pass
Transcendence beyond what reality confines
Ascending through elated clouds
Light as a feather, past all sounds
Cumulus puffs of wispy air
Move across the narrow pass
Reflection upon deeds past
I’ll meet you there
The Noose
Tight wound, loose fitted hoop
Dangle bound, rigid stiff noose
The Knife
Its cold at first greet
But calm as it moves effortlessly
The taste is bitter, the smell sweet
The last drop leaves painlessly
Pool of blood at my feet
Too Late
A pool of liquid
Smells like shit
They find the body of a dead man, two weeks two late
The Leaf
Cold, dank, damp
Sticking to it gently
Once alive, now under water heavy
A leaf on the body of the drowned victim
No better
I’m like the harbinger of sorrows sadness
A little pill can replace me
No better, no worse
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| i started these trying to describe every consievable way one could die in poetry, not that ive given up on finishing that list, its just very long, and laborous, and after writing these, plus some others i kinof lost a little steam for it. eventually the rest will be up here, but i dont know when. thanks for giving them a read, hope to read more of your work soon, best of luck, Patrick. |
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Very interesting, I think your spin on the death of oneself, be it at our own hands or that of
another, leaves us all to remember times we've shared very similar thoughts. Take Care, Bebe |
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