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Before I bleed

July 4, 2017

Before I bleed


 

Behind the shades, my tears.

Like black pearls they roll down.

My face has darkened with fears.


My old warm and bright-red friend,

now I can’t request euthanasia.

It’s another breakdown, but it ain’t the end.


 

Wait. Am I depressed or is it just PMS?


 

Why after all these years?

Why is there a new melt-down?

I swear I haven’t drunk more than 2 beers.


 

Always in the never-ending mend,

there’s no more need for anaesthesia.

Quick! Mumble something and hit send.


 

Message delivered. The worst is over, I must confess.

 


 

Steadily, heavily craving my gummy bears.

I’m tempted. Still wearing my dressing gown.

So old I feel after a couple of Smears.


 

A blade? No, but a cold towel you can lend.

I don’t know if you’d call this synaesthesia:

colours and sounds start to blend.


 

Whatever, I’m fine. But next time I ask for a hug, please just say YES…


 

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