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He came screaming into my life like a balloon accidentally,
Let loose before the knot is tied,
And his words make me giddy.
So why do the words not flow onto the page over him?
Why can I only write sad poems?
 Apr 2015 David T Carratola
Jane
High off his love,
drunk from his hate.
She let go
of her name

watched it drift
away

a thing on the tide
separate to herself.

A thing now
to be

denied.

She undid
her self

watched it
now fall to the floor

kicked it
carelessly to one side


as if stepping out
of a dress

she had worn for far
too long.

She unclasped her love
of the world

put it aside
carefully and with

a little regret.

And then
she stepped into

her death
as if she were

stepping into
a bath.

“So, this is
it? ”
she laughed.
..she had just cut her wrists and was watching her self die. She was telling me what it was like and was very bitter she was saved! She lived over a pub so the familiar barman's cry was one of the last things she heard before her flatmate came back early from a blind date and found her in time.
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