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Shea Apr 2019
I'm not a good person,
It's not too hard to see.
It's pouring from my sweatglands
And lingering in my sleep.

I'm not a good person,
It's pretty obvious to see.
Cause everthing you tell me,
I seem to believe.
Shea Mar 2019
No one is alive.

And when you wake up to a scream,
Forget it.
It's me, making you, after making me.

Choke on blood.

My opinion is invalid,
Declined like your debit card.

Your opinion is biased by
Having never been loved
Or listened to in youth.

You're not my problem,
Do not think I won't stab you
In the front too.
Shea Mar 2019
The 5 stages of grief and loss are:
1. Denial and isolation;
2. Anger;
3. Bargaining;
4. Depression;
5. Acceptance.

I lay on you, and breathe in the smell
Of your hair, feel the small vibrations
Of your laugh resonating the soft felt pews.
I tell myself I will remember this forever,
So when I miss you, I can still feel you.
The mood grows serious,
The vibrations of your voice shrink down
To a whisper, and crumble
Like rocks beneath a hammer.
"When I die," you say,
Fleeing every so called good feeling felt
Away from this place.
"You're going to get bear,
But I can't tell you what you're getting yet."
She tells us.
Me.
Him.
The only ones here who know.
You told me yesterday, yes you did.
I smiled, I cried, I cussed at God,
I cried again, I bargained,
But I still did not accept.
I smiled and told you it would be okay.
But I think I know deep down inside
That you know deep inside
It might not be okay.
It came back. It's here, in this room,
Inside you.
And I keep making up scenarios where
Someone has asked me
"Would you do this thing if it meant she lived?"
And I always say yes no matter how
****** up the action may be.
Maybe this is the bargaining.
You're not dead yet, but ****
It feels like it.
It will be years.
I'm sure of it.
But I'm just so scared, babe.
I'm so scared.
No one so young should be labeled
With an experation date,
A summarization of how long their life
Will be.
No one.
Shea Mar 2019
If I don't end my life,
I know you'll die before me.
I love you.
I wish the tumor would shrink
Or dehydrate.
I wish it wouldn't grow
So that you could grow instead
I wish that I could take it all away from you
Maybe put it in a jar
And tuck it away so far
That no one would have to see.
I wish I could eat it,
Throw it, **** it, slaughter it,
Whatever it took to get it out your brain
And into mine
Or out of existence so that
You, and angel to this nasty world
Could live, survive, and breathe without pain
At least for a day.
You did nothing, love.
You did nothing to deserve it.
So even I question my faith
When I ask the Lord why the hell
He let this happen to his own.
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