Canst thou knock and break my bones?
Maybe if not for a little hesitation,
Sprawled I’d be, atop black and white,
And thy driver will come and cry apologies
Or be cold and continue regardless.
But be it no matter, dear speeding car
For the pain you drive through my body
Would never compare to that through my soul.
It compresses upon my shoulders,
A pressure unwanted-
Ha, fool; a pressure wanted doth not exist.
Stupid statements may spell my end
For I will not face death today
Nor tomorrow. But one day, I pray
I will no longer feel this pain.
But no one mind must worry, for I
Will never let my bladed hand slip
And my throat will never suffer a slit
From me. Nor suffer lacking breath,
For a coward canst not deal that hand.
Or is a coward the one who can?
For they leave when the going gets tough
And I pity them, as much as I do their family,
For feeling so down as to want to
Move these last six feet low;
Several feet towards the Paradise (or Hell)
Which they now belong to
In peace my hopes do plead,
But who knows the consequences of actions?
By golly! Why so morbid?
A poem of death and pain fills the heart
And beats away good feelings that once embraced it.
Again my mouth is floating; I shalt hush now
And I shalt forget thee, fast car,
For thou art the fool, not I.