Trauma

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Today feels like the end of my tricks.
The loud thumps of my heart are now silent ticks.

As now I can see my deathbed up close,
I long to lie in it, to drift in an overdose.

My breaths are shallow as I write,
This poem as a will, a way to fight,
A road to lead me out of the night.

My heart can’t seem to beat hard enough.
I’ve never feared death, I have always been tough.

Why now, I don’t seem to want to go yet?
Feels like I have an unfinished business to attend.

Is it because I haven’t found a love to fall in?
Or because of my non-existing secrets and sins?

Am I afraid of hell for I have tasted red blood?
I sipped it from beating hearts until their last thud.

Am I afraid of what I have become?
Drunk on blood instead of wine or rum.

My pride and bloodlust became the death of me,
As for my dignity and love-seeking nature wills to be.

You have been foolish to think that I trust thee,
Or anything in the world that can’t see.

See the truth that I’m eternally thine,
As you sweet death are also mine.

I tremble as I write this death note,
A confession, a lie, a sinking boat.

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