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Romona Hardy Jul 2013
This is how it always begins,
It sneaks up like house flys in the fall.
Waking up in the morning feeling worse then the night before,
Garbage can full of ***** still beside the bed on the floor.
   Runny nose, sneezing, body drenched in sweat and freezing cold,
In the past 12 months ive started to look old.
   This is what i can't stand,
A self inflicted flu that makes me feel like a slave.
Its not that i wasnt warned,
Not as if i didnt understand,
I saw first hand the grip it takes, foolish me was just to naive to listen,
Im diffrent, i have self contorl,
Tables turned im now controled,
Dancing with deamons is always risky,
When you let your guard down the devil creeps in quickly.
   My body no longer belongs to me,
It becomes that of the walking dead.
Back, legs, arms, shoulders all ache.
I feel like ive run a marathon though i barley have energy to move.
My mind wanders to places full of fear,
Arms give away my secrets, showing the scars of my vice.
Everything is freezing and the blankets no longer supply the comfort i need.
   A spoon, a lighter, cotton and water,
relif so close my body starts to shudder.
Im handed the belt, ive long since lernt what to do,
Gotta get the veins up, missing is the last thing someone like me wants a thing like that to happen to.
Muscles all tense from sickness and desperate antipication,
deep breath, needle in, a patient to my own form of cancer awaiting my medication.
Like a child on christmas eve full of excitement for whats to come,
from my veins to the syringe a stream of blood does run.
One final push, now release the belt,
Im finally holding hands with euphoria,
While falling a little farther into hell.
Daniel Kenneth Jan 2017
no such thing as a lost cause
you won't always feel this way
a year can turn somebody into a stranger
some things you just can't contorl
Ghoti May 2017
After reading the scroll given unto him by the whisper, his heart wept. His soul died. He was defeated. A man whose own people thought so highly of, brought down to his knees with a single scroll covered in ink. A scroll that so crudely written with a ravens feather, informed him further of what he had lost. For it was only a whisper but he can still remember the tone, and the passion held within it. He wanted to run. Every echo only brought misery and despair. He wanted to feel someone embrace him. He needed someone. But as a king, he felt weak for having issues that not even he could contorl. For admitting such a feat would belittle him as a ruler and he surely thought his people would surely dethrone him and have him exiled for being weak. Truth be told. He was already executed by his kingdom. The sentence came from his heart, and his mind brought the cold iron over his shoulders. And he way he's helplessly as he rolled down the steps of his once mighty castle.

— The End —