Last Will

Drowning my sorrows, in this poem
to find you there, creeping, at home.
To have this pain, it is futile
a lover’s lust, stolen by a criminal style.
Bring me my suitcase, books, and clothes
bring me my hats, shoes, and combs,
but never, ever, bring yourself
to this, my own, abandoned shelf.
Your money will not fix, the pain I feel
to have your soul hurt like this,
must be unreal.
My pills are not working, the treatments are worse.
Remember my name, on my coffin, in my hearse.

Last Will

dwrawk

Joined August 2008

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Artist's Description

A Poem about my Grandmother’s death. It was a very hard time for everyone altogether. But, I had to let it out somehow.

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