Musical Chairs
By violetfyre
Tonight I'll fill myself with poison And hope to Christ I die. But I've never been that lucky. Down below, trucks drive backwards on sidewalks And diamond-encrusted cars sparkle. The sun is blotted out and I am cold. Perfect bodies sit before me and I am winded Because it might be me in another life. I am in the wrong chair. Sitting at the wrong desk. And I am always crying on the inside, Drowning myself from the inside out. And still I keep dreaming that you are dying. Still sleeping on a pillow wet with tears, And I am in the wrong bed. We will be yet two more random deaths, Yet two more carbon bodies turned to numbers in a book. Let's fill our souls with poison, Let's fill our hearts with light, And float into oblivion. **Why does all my poetry suck so bad lately? ** Written January 25th, 2002 © on Jan 25 2002 08:31 AM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"Tonight I'll fill myself with poison..."