deepundergroundpoetry.com

These Hopeless Feelings

I sit here
in my motel room
smoking cigarettes

just to pass the time

staring blankly
at pale blue walls

waiting for a phonecall
i know isn't coming

hopelessness and depression
are like crushing weights on my chest

there's a spoon
and three syringes
in my back pack

no dope to fill either them
or myself, no temporary escape
for me tonite

no way to quiet these razorblade
and kerosene blues
wailing from inside my soul

i dream of suicide
of the last poem i write

the last load of meth
i shoot into my veins

to bad it won't be tonite
Written by David_gessner
Published
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