Too many things are kept unsaid
a needle in her arm or a bullet in her head
dying to leap ahead
to the moment you take your last breath
only accompanied by the rush of death
your only coat is your own rotting flesh
I'm feeling guilty I must confess
I take pity on the poor fuck who cleans up the mess
is it possible
that this is all a cruel test
barely able to pause
and catch your weakened breath
maybe just for today
I'll go the other way
instead of resenting
the beginning of a new day
LA
YOU ARE READING
Dopamine OD
PoetryA collection of writing from sudden spurs of thoughts, ideas, and memories written down on anything I could jot them down on before the next set of lyrical poetry came across my thoughts. Photograph by: Hanna Lee Reehl
