May 13, 2024.


self death

Iíve been pressed into lifeís pages
Dried like a freshly plucked spring flower
Sucked of my true color
Shriveling into oblivion a bit young

I figured the best option was not to -
hopelessly blow air back into my lungs
and hope I wake from this self death
- as something more resilient

Whatever was here is long gone
I searched around for it,
Reaching my hands down my throat
Like searching for spare change in a purse

But nothing is coming up
Except clear fluid and
the taste of my medications
Best to start over, whatís wasted is wasted




Poetry by aidan haskel The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 44 times
Written on 2024-05-14 at 05:57

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