Tired

February 27, 2009
By Anonymous

The blood that soaks the ground has hardened.
No force, no pleas can take it back.
the knife that ends my mortal heartache
also takes away the happiness.
I linger in the abyss of nothingness, no emotions to keep me tied down, all feeling of touch and taste are gone.
I'm so tired, so very weary of movement. For once, I'd like the stillness and t he dark.
My existance, life, and love will be forgotten.
If not by others, at least by me.

The author's comments:
Despite the fact that this is kind of a sad poem, I'm pretty optamistic and happy with my life. This wasn't written to express some inner termoil within my soul. It was written because there are people who are like that. What I want to say to those people are, "Be optamistic. Take a bad day and turn it around, because anything can happen with an open mind."

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