I stare out of my window watching this world pass me by,
I've reached the point of defeat- I no longer want to try.
The sun is shining brightly- the wind blows through the trees,
Too bad this beautiful world no longer holds a place for me.
I think about the things I've done and some things I have said,
Contemplating the road to take to lead me to my death bed.
I listen to the clock counting my final moments one by one,
For when the hour strikes I have a date with this old gun.
My heart begins to race and my blood begins to rush,
I grab the handle of my friend- my final hours up.
I take the gun and grip it- I point it at my head,
And just as I pull the trigger I awaken in my bed.
I lay there shaking in my bed- the ordeal was just a dream,
Thankfully some things are not always what they may seem.
This poem is for those who are hurting- It is not your time,
One day you, too, will wake up and all will be just fine.
its my time: another poem
Dec 8, 2008, 6:16 PM 2
P.S, im not emo!