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Locked in bed stomach in my throat Empty in my head Prisoner to a parasite Picked up on a late night Throwing up nothing but wicked thoughts and forcing blood to the thin barrier of skin A living sack keeping my life in Though id rather it just let out give up give in fade from the sun and find eternal delight in knowing nothing and giving up on life Not giving in, no suicide isnt an option, just a dream of dreaming eternal Thinking would be over Caring would be done Wanting would be a memory Needing would be a foreign feeling It's an option and that's fine if it wasn't I'd feel trapped and really want to die ( I love life don't get me wrong, some days though could be skipped)
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Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 8:13 PM UTC
A poem from a sick head and diseased body
Locked in bed stomach in my throat Empty in my head Prisoner to a parasite Picked up on a late night Throwing up nothing but wicked thoughts and forcing blood to the thin barrier of skin A living sack keeping my life in Though id rather it just let out give up give in fade from the sun and find eternal delight in knowing nothing and giving up on life Not giving in, no suicide isnt an option, just a dream of dreaming eternal Thinking would be over Caring would be done Wanting would be a memory Needing would be a foreign feeling It's an option and that's fine if it wasn't I'd feel trapped and really want to die ( I love life don't get me wrong, some days though could be skipped)
kyle-henderson
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Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 8:13 PM UTC
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