Next Stop

Two tickets, for a train to down under.
Take me with you, for my birth was a blunder.
Walking as blind energy, from day to day.
Giving up the hope to pray, as I lay,
Myself down, in my self-inflictions,
False predictions and true addictions,
Resist the urge, as I stand by the kitchen drawer.
I’m feeling sore, playing with my demons more and more,
They lied to me, until I finally fell to the floor.
Father, why didn’t you do it when you had the chance?
I’ve asked God many times to put it in his hands.
I suppose, it is not my time to escape,
As I ask the reaper to open his gates.
The next stop, could be 5 or 50 years away,
Everyday, I wish it was yesterday.
Everyday, I pray it could be today.
What do you do, without the courage,
To use your own hand, and all greater forces,
Are against your wicked plan?
You walk as blind energy, from day to day.
Giving up the hope to pray, as you lay,
Yourself down,
In  your self-inflictions,
False predictions and true addictions.
Resisting the urge, as you stand by the kitchen drawer.

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Flora-Belle Smith

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I began writing when I had an opportunity to reside in solitude, giving me time to come to terms with my being.
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