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02/02/07
by Kyle Moree
02/03/07
Not For Sale
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I have this feeling that I'm falling of a cliff in the middle of no where. And no one will hear. I have this itch in the back of my mind reminding me of past oxygens that have hit my lungs. And yet I still awake. I'm drowning all alone in a crowded room. I'm running out of excuses but I've got a hidden book full of reasons to blame me. All my spare coins have turned into haunting vultures continuously plucking away at what is left of the man I started out to be. I thought it would be so much quicker than this. I swore I felt the stinging making a noose around my throat. But I'm still breathing. Maybe the air moves in slower these days but the motion in my lungs is still the same. The beat of my heart may quicken from time to time but the results do not differ. I have this feeling that my time is almost up. I can smell the exhales from death; standing over my shoulder counting on his fingers the last moments. The atmosphere has become thick with my tasteless speeches; the tumor is enlarging faster than they can take pictures. It won't be too much longer now.

All of these words, all of these emotions… I feel. I've hid them away and three in the morning has brought them out into the open. I drown at night and awake with puddles surrounding my head. I dive of a cliff in my dreams to awake with razor-sharp rocks stuck in my sides. It's true; everything you are thinking when you read this. The thought creeping its way in the back of your mind, don't push it away. For most likely what you are thinking is true, don't kill it.

Pointless, pointless chatter… It has invested a sound saving in me.

And whatever I say goes… and it will go right along to my grave and rest peacefully at my side with a birthday similar to my own.

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