What is this morbid fascination
I have with the prospect of my
own uncertain and certain
demise?
It reeks of gentle desperation,
a perfidious need to know
the outcome of a life lived
in unconscious and conscious
vigilance.
No hangman’s noose for me,
no liquid death or razor’s end,
no toxic pills or silent sleep,
no horrors all too reticent
or bleak.
Or perhaps I am too pleasant.
Perhaps the end will see me
choking on bile and spume
as my heart clenches tight
around a half-crazed mind.
This morbid fascination
will be the end of me.
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Whoa. This is… incredible. My jaw literally dropped as I finished. It’s… perfect. I was particularly struck by:
“choking on bile and spume as my heart clenches tight around a half-crazed mind” and “gentle desperation”. Just… whoa… I gotta sit down.
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Thanks, Tara! Glad you liked it, seems not many others did lol. I had a problem with my scheduled posts and the daylight saving change, so not many people saw the post. Doh!
But I’m really happy you liked it 🙂
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I always seem to do that. It’s a trend with me I’ve noticed. The poems that deeply affect me seem to be the less “liked” or commented ones. I don’t know: maybe I’m just weird or have different tastes. Or maybe I view things a bit differently. For whatever it’s worth, all I can say is, this slammed me in the chest and my mouth was left hanging and I literally said the word “whoa” out loud as a response. Thanks for sharing it.
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No worries! Thanks again for appreciating my work 🙂
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