Dying Words

March 14, 2013
I am too far gone to be a child
Too cynical, too dead, too vile
But I wish, I pray I could
Return to the woods
The tall dark soft peace
The musty smell
And crispy leaves
Bad decisions call me,
Growing weary
My head grows heavy,
Vision blurry
White hot tearful fear
Breaking point so near
And if I could take it back
I would
Cut my finger taste the blood
Return to the woods
And take my chances
But whispers remain
Such fine romances
My heart tells me one thing
My head another
And the battle cry
Another blunder
Like driving blind
Like our hands intertwined
Sunny banter
Like kissing cancer
But your mask is lovely
You lift me up,
Then strike me kill me
Sink down into the weeds
Deeper hurt
Darling please
Return to the woods
And ease
Gone, cease

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