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 May 2013 Rachel Mary
Rlavr
A bad poet
|                  Is
|                  one
|      Whose
| poems Are
|                  not
|              For
    anyone.
You said, 'It's a portmanteau!'
I want to die.
Tell me,
Is it possible?
Can I do it myself?
Or will I be judged.
Ignorant little pests
Who belong to a certain religion
Tell me I'd go to hell.

But I'm already there.
And I can not escape.

My one
And only
Real Hell,

Has been in my head
The whole time.
The clock is forever driving me,
The minute hand is not nice.
The time is getting away so fast;
Can't take time to think about it twice.

The seconds run away and hide
Taking minutes and hours away.
I try to slow them down a bit,
Begging them to stay.

"Time marches on" the people say
With boots that are unforgiving.
Perhaps the best thing for me to do
Is to get on with my living.
Copyright 2013, William M. Winegar
This is an older poem written some time back.
 May 2013 Rachel Mary
marina
i have run
out of words
to give to
you
.
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