deepundergroundpoetry.com
Resuscitation
I am dead inside.
Hold a mirror to my nose, and catch no breath. And I've felt the chest compressions of a hundred prayers, but I cant feel my own heart beating.
Hold my wrist and feel no pulse. And I can hear the whispers of my spirit pleading for me to move, but I cant budge a single tendon.
Put me on life support and hold on to the me you used to know. And I can read your thoughts like books of my old dreams, but I gave up those ashes like an offering. Promised beauty but molded into an urn.
I am dead inside.
Hold a mirror to my nose, and catch no breath. And I've felt the chest compressions of a hundred prayers, but I cant feel my own heart beating.
Hold my wrist and feel no pulse. And I can hear the whispers of my spirit pleading for me to move, but I cant budge a single tendon.
Put me on life support and hold on to the me you used to know. And I can read your thoughts like books of my old dreams, but I gave up those ashes like an offering. Promised beauty but molded into an urn.
I am dead inside.
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