Bloodstained Paper

The pencil I used to write off my life,

Was lying neatly alongside the knife,

Smudged, silver-grey pencil note,

The hardest thing I ever wrote,

False and sadly impermanent thrills,

That I gleaned from experimenting with mixtures of pills,

The paper is stained with blotches of red,

So much still remains unsaid.



The End

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