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Waiting

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I wait for it to come,
I am growing weaker by the minute.
I dont know how long I can stay,
but I am too scared to go.

My body shakes with the cold and fear, I let out a moan for the aches.
My eyelids get heavier,
hope has become my new foe.

Blackness is taking over,
the scent of death is rising.
It traps and surrounds me in its embrace, this feeling will become the last I ever know.





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BoJammin This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jan. 4, 2010 at 7:16 pm
i really like your work! great use of language - you know how to set a mood of a poem. check my work out if you get a chance, feedback'd be great. thanks!
 
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