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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #2216438
Death will be welcome, but I'm no longer in a rush...
My burning blood
no longer sears my wicked heart.
As the beat dies down
the wind chills me one last time.

My cursed blood
no longer feeds my crooked limbs.
As they sever off
pain stings for the final time.

I speed towards the dying light.
I pay Charon my one-way fare.
I draw a final breath of air.
I’m before long in Stygian care.

My boiling blood
no longer feeds my rotting mind.
As it flickers out
angst strikes for the final time.

My scorched blood
no longer gives me any strength.
As the pulse slows down
I know peace for the first time.

I speed towards the dying light.
I pay Charon my one-way fare.
I draw a final breath of air.
I’m before long in Stygian care.

Existence is the lie of life.
A hopeless, apathetic cry.
Here’s some well-thought-out advice:
Commit collective suicide.
© Copyright 2020 J. J. Netzach (jjnetzach at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2216438-Ferryman