Savannah Gothic poem. Read it, think about it, and if ever teetering on the precipice of a regretful decision that could never be regretted, come and read it again.
You live through things to tell the tale. Hopeful like a wishing well. What’s done is done and it was hell. We’ve followed the witchy breadcrumb trail.
The drowning girl, the burning man. I see him reaching out his hand. Her small blue face, hands like white sand. It’s not something that I understand.
Watching someone ruin their life. You cling to yours and hide the knives. They cut and bleed and ask you why. They do it to themselves then cry.
One more moment with so many. Last words said as hearts are heavy. One word could have changed a death. One little poem could save their breath.
So close to death I’ve always been. So close that death and I are kin. Life’s a game I cannot win. Is it some karma or some sin?
Hold life close and don’t look back. If you can breathe you are…
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