Funeral Beds

Her child like mind is tired of trying
Fighting, living, tired of lying
to herself, she’s lost and dying.

He, himself, is sick of being
done with seeing, he’s sick of leaving
everything, it’s not worth staying,
but he can’t seem to just stop breathing.

Everything they’ve ever said,
had made more sense inside their heads,
but sense is lost, beneath the cost,
that ended in their funeral beds.

Funeral Beds

MorbidPuppet

Joined November 2007

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Tags

dark poetry

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