deepundergroundpoetry.com
fare well
this is it my final hour has approached me on the desk is a letter of resentment the truth to my lies my sorry for them tears i brought to all your eyes i wonder if any of you cares as my stares focuses on the barrel fingers on the trigger anticipating the pull of the last thought which is of the cruel ways i once lived to much to forgive so now the only door open is whats about to be my resting place the bullet gives off a funny taste the brains such a terrible thing to waste .........
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