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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Emotional >> ID #1509082 |
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Wasted in negativity,
And wrapped within its warming cold, I rest in my proclivity, Watching time creep, while growing old; Negativity has its hold. I’m addicted to the habit And the habit looks just like me. The mirror reflects the template As I swing past it to see If the template can hear my plea. The carbon copy of myself Transferred onto the sheets of time, And the sheets pile up on the shelf Until time says it’s time to climb Out of the depths to the sublime. Knowing well the peak has no point, I fly to the slippery slope And there in this time I anoint The slippery slope with my hope While holding tightly to a rope. I hold for life while my hands freeze, Knowing that I'm going to fall. I squeeze but can’t hold the disease, And nobody can hear my call As I tumble into the pall. I hit the shelf with all the sheets Tearing down the times of before; As I crash through with more defeats My life scatters across the floor And I get up and lock the door.
© Copyright 2008 jimmyfin (UN: jimmyfin at Writing.Com).
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