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Oct 2017
I came to realize the rumours,
Spread only by the daring few.
Modernly changed into playful humours,
Discarding the horror: it’s true.

In the darkest of allies,
And the depths of our ignorance.
Within our concrete seas,
We have destroyed the ambulance.

I did it only with harmless intent,
Not knowing what to anticipate.
A brother did me try to prevent,
With a stare that did me debate.
Only now I know what he meant,
So I hoped that it could dissipate.

Endless joy,
Careless thoughts.
A young boy,
Feeling that of astronauts.

I was taken into space itself,
In a room shut by vacuumed-air-lock.
All I could hear was myself,
As my laugh sounded the tick of a clock.

Time had surely been slurred,
As an hour did pass, but my whole life I’d replayed.
This indefinitely had my imagination stirred,
For every move I did make was somewhat delayed.

A consistent sound,
Pure.
Yet irritating,
For sure.
As if me,
It to lure:
That death
Be the cure.

It wouldn’t go away.
Any of it.
Would I see the light of another day?
Stuck in this pit?

There and then, a prayer was said,
Asking for healing.
With all the sense in my head,
And the pain I was feeling.

In that same day,
I made my decision.
For the rest of my life,
I’d forget the transition.
Christopher Dovale
Written by
Christopher Dovale  17/M/Gauteng, South Africa
(17/M/Gauteng, South Africa)   
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