Not with a whimper

.

My tongue is lead, my throat is dry,

Each new breath is more difficult,

My hope is dead, my smile is wry

I cannot fathom this dark cult,

Words are stuck deep down in my mind

For I am not able to find

The energy to get them out

Nor use keeping up this charade,

I hoped I would, could scream and shout,

In the end I will simply fade…

.


A very particular set of emotions and feelings tied to a very particular set of memories.

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