Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Screams from upstairs echo and penetrate the roach-infested walls
now they are fucking concerned
that bitch needs to stop her bawl
minutes pass
after the blast
people crowding in the hall
I wake but I'm faint
hands full of blood
drenched in Death's paint
Feelings of failure begins to churn
the bullet in my chest starts to burn
maybe Death passed me up
because I tired to end my live before my fucking turn
I clutch my splintered memories tautly...
waiting impatiently for the heart stopping blow...
hoping to die or somehow for the pain to let go...
No such luck...
thoughts of futility relentlessly reappear...
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