|At Least We're Not in Tibet (standard:poetry, 488 words)|
|Author: Leonard Becker||Added: Dec 16 2000||Views/Reads: 2346/1090||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Whatever else is wrong with us... at least we're not in Tibet.|
This is not about her... believe me it's not. I am going to make a conscious effort to move beyond that gal She's not that important to me any more (Seen as how she's made it ABUNDANTLY clear that I'm not to her) So this is not about her. So what is this about? I don't know. I can't say. I mean, I probably know. In fact I know I know... But what I don't know is that if I know it subconsciously and just won't tell myself Or if I know superficially, and have chose to ignore it. Or if I only think I know because, I'm really dying. You think? Don't they know I'm up here All alone? Would they try and save me if they knew how shitty things are? Or do they know and not care or do they write me off as a toy or a clapping monkey? Fuck 'em. I don't know if I'll get out of it, But fuck 'em. I don't need them. It's better to drown alone than among friends. I walked into the bathroom this morning and had a flash, For a second, I saw myself lying dead in the toilet. My head Bobbing in the flushed piss-water And my arms Hanging from the side of the bowl-dangling more free than they've been for a while. Who would cry? I know my mother would-but she doesn't count. My father would say he would, and I know he'd feel like it, but I just can't see him doing it. But that's okay. Would she cry for me? NO! Shit! This isn't about her! Okay... Truth... Yes it is. Click here to read the rest of this story (56 more lines)
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