Waiting in this silent room, for me the morning comes too soon.
The feeling of impending doom, consumes me when I see the door.
I clasp my hands, s***w up my eyes, I beg the sun, “Please do not rise.â€Â
I tell myself but I know It’s lies, the door will open just once more.
And when they come with cross and book, and chants and prayers to bore.
Ill tell them “ No“ and go before.
This was supposed to be the first verse of a poem, but I can’t think of any thing
to say in the second verse. I think I have written the last verse first.
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