The Dead of Night

February 20, 2009
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Lost, alone, scared.
The wind blows gently,
The branches hit the window,
The darkness devours.

Empty, pained, numb.
The clock blinks 3:15 A.M.
The night whispers.
The sadness shouts.

Confused, wary, determined.
A blade, a gun, pills?
Choices that haunt us,
Decisions difficult to make.

A tear, a smile, laughter.
Salty, sweet, endless.
A stop sign means stop,
But seeing green means go.

Dead, cold, alive.
The pain halts.
Emptiness fades away.
A spirit murmurs goodbye.

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