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Poem: The Calling

Reading is a series of human emotions. Writing is the gift of sharing these emotions.


So this is how it feels to be on one's last legs -
I can hear the waves of the ocean that will take me away,
I can see walking dots from the 66th floor of the skyscraper,
I can taste extreme dosage of barbiturates in my mouth,
I can feel the throbbing on my wrist,
There's that great desire to croak
Because what else is left to do when you've been robbed of hope?
Zero, zilch, nada...there's nothing else.

For what's beyond the veil,
No one knows...
Except the residents from six feet under,
But I will soon find out
Once I'm sleeping with the fishes,
Once I pass out before I hit the ground,
Once I foam at the mouth,
Once I run out of red liquid.
The slow breathing,
The slow heart rate,
Should completely shut down.

It's my calling.
I'm bound to succumb to the dark summons
Because the world is cruel;
It sucks and it brings slow and excruciating sleep
And I don't want it slow.
When I've gone to glory,
Conceal it from my three drops of heaven,
Until I'm lost to oblivion.

© 2019 Shey Saints

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