May 19, 2011 21:27
Rivulets of red that run-
tears and blood
have become one.
The chasm yawns
and opens wider-
my terror dies;
my screams grow quieter.
There is no use
in fighting now-
the script is writ,
my fate somehow
has come to this,
and only this....
an empty grave,
no one to miss
me when I'm done.
Not gone, just finished.
An end to pain...
that's all I wished.
dying,
poem