The End

The End short poem prose poem

I woke up
knowing it was time.
Only last week
I was told about
what was
growing inside of me.
They said it
didn’t belong there.
We are ready
they said.
Staring into its
soon to hit
nonexistence,
the  bitterness and guilt
erupted in me,
smashed against the whiteness
of the room,
leaving me
in no control
as I  felt
the cold pliers
Inside me.
Kaput.
The end.
Of life.

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nelcc

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Teacher. Learner. Seeker. Doer. Thinker. Dreamer. Adventurer. Risk taker. Realist. Passionate. Harmonizer. Rules bender. Chaotically creative. Constructively self destructive. Non conformist. Complicated. Trend setter. Nocturnal. Easily high on sugar. A pragmatic escapist. A brutally honest critic. hard to convince . harder to impress. Good at wearing masks. And tearing others’ masks too. Believer in the fluidity of identity. Neruda, TS Eliot, Plath and Woolf - my inspirations. Shadows. Silences. Subconscious. Perfectionist. Individualistic. Detest regimentation. Second hand books, bubbles, balloons, rain drops dancing on the windshield of a fast moving car, lakesides, seasides and mountains make me happy. So do cupcakes, wine, freebies in expensive hotels, the last page of a good book, handicrafts and the smell of grass. post-it notes define me. cleaning is therapeutic. Mathematically challenged. Milk is my drug.Stagnation petrifies me,so do snakes and spiders. Lost a friend 6 years ago. Stopped writing poetry. I imagine. I’m a survivor.
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Hala
Member

my greeting

Editorial Board
Member

A brave piece of writing, the remorse and helplessness captured in words and imagery with clinical precision..

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