The poet is in her room
Shes shaking on her ice cold floor
Her poems circle her
And one stays unfinished and she couldn't take anymore
A rope around her throat
And the rest hanging from her ceiling
And her wrists blood soaked
The blood is spreading to her poems staining them
Shes crying because she knows what she wants is coming soon
They're not tears of sadness
They're not tears of joy
There those types of tears that you can't explain
She starts to doze off into somewhere she doesn't know
Her body so light and pale
She hear sirens ringing through her head
She starts to get dizzy but all of a sudden shes underneath bright lights
She closes them as a the doctors give her oxygen
Shes bleeding fatally
And she hopes that they don't save her
Shes rushed into the emergency room
A thousand faces in hers
And appliances on her shes never seen
Her mind cannot make out anything
She feels so helpless
She feels so worthless
She can't breathe
She could barley see
Aww..So sad!...Don't be sad..You're a great poet..No Dying..If I havn't said it before..I'll say it again..(Doesn't make sense but I'll go with it)..TO end a talent like yours is a sin!
