My dying Day

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  • Loss

    My dying Day

    I've failed quite wretchedly at this test.

    My brittle heart has been cursed.

    You smiling on and looking your best.

    But I'm lying here feeling my worst.



    You can call me blind.

    But I didn't picture it to… be.. like… this.

    Now I'm scrambling to find.

    The simple signs that I missed.



    Taking for granted each day that we shared.

    Is something I never intended to do.

    Never attested to how much I cared.

    And proved that I truly loved you.



    But it's too late for excuses now.

    Foolishness has killed off my chance.

    Hoping that someday, somehow.

    We can resurrect this tragic romance.



    Living with memories everyday.

    This seems so unbearable for me.

    I'm sorry it turned out this way.

    This isn't how it was supposed to be.



    Unable to take much more.

    These wounds are hard to withstand.

    I'm sprawled out helpless on the floor.

    Won't you please just take my hand.



    Like you used to.

    Before this all went awry.

    Like you used to.

    Wipe these sorrowful tears from my eyes.



    Broken and battered.

    I can't make it on my own.

    Helpless and shattered.

    I'm lying here all alone.



    In the dark shadows of these memories.

    Is where… I will stay.

    I will stay in these memories.

    Until… my dying day.



    Your callous gaze.

    Shooting right through my heart.

    Your stare portrays.

    How blinded we've been since the start.



    But it's said and done.

    We can't go on this way….

    I've loaded up my gun.

    Consider this…my dying day.

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    The1NobodyKnows’s Poems (13)

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