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by Erica Brown© Nov 17, 2004 category : Sadness, depression / about death
I hear, The rustling of keys. And in the distance, The sound of the seas. Calling me to plunge in, To take the kill. But I choose, To just take a pill. Everything is so out of place, I'm sprawled on the floor. Staring in a trance, Out the front door. The wind, Blows the paper that has been ripped. As the sun dances, On the hot blood that has dripped.