Poetry / My Plague
So sick, I'm dying
The sky and I are crying.
I'm tired, I'm sick
You really know how to make me tick.
I'm going back home
My body's still
But my mind, it roams everywhere
I'd rather be anywhere, but here.
Growing colder
Everything goes black.
I'll grow no older
'Cause I won't come back.
It's the end
My life is through.
My story's old
But my pain feels new.
The pain spreads
Like a fatal plague.
Memories of you
Are growing vague.
Tears stain my
Blank, white sheets.
Fears pain me
Consciousness depletes.
My body numbs
And I fall asleep.
I feel alone
But I rest in peace.
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kitty, i really love this. i like how there are no metaphors, it is just plain and simple, death, witch is always fun! also i like how you can make the reader feel compleatly alone like the character. Great job, honey!
Love, Grapfruit.
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This is a very bleak, realistic vision of letting go of life. The rhythm is excellent—I feel the blood draining…the darkness taking over.
Your work is very sincere and effective…an excellent job. Perhaps let the last two lines stand alone—they are the saddest…the end. Standing alone, they may get your point across even stronger.
You are talented.
Keep writing,
McKinley
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