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by berty
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1742613
that bad feeling yet again.
As I look over I start to think,
How has my life come to such a brink?
I used to be happy, had all that I need,
Now I just cut to see myself bleed.

The water below me flows so fast,
The space below me looks so vast.
But I know it'll be over in a second,
As the cry from my maker is I am being beckoned.

Once I am over it would be a dash,
But I want to be long gone before I hear that splash.
The last thing I'd hear is cheers from a few,
I won't listen to the "don't do it, not you".

Once it is over people will be at peace,
They won't have to listen to my whingeing at least.
How will I be remembered?As the lad that was sad?
Or as the good guy who ended up bad?
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