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by Renegade Angel Jul 12, 2017
Sadness, depression /
There may be a coil in my back.
Like something breathing heat in my cold body.
It seems like there is something trying to revive me.
A hand covers my mouth as I try to breathe, and have the harsh air escape my lungs.
“She’s not breathing”, they say. I am all tears and anger.
They don’t want me to breathe, they don’t want me to be anything but a doll.
Another disaster, I breathe.
Again my lungs collapse from the weight of disaster.
“Consider her gone”, one person states.
My memories become dead, as hands pull the life out of my lifeless body.
Just a floating, systematical disaster.
There goes another.
Powerful stuff here. I was engrossed all the way and BAM! Well done-
by - Mr. Darcy
wow - another poem that shocks. Your ability is diverse - here you have decided to space each line. This, for me, created the space to absorb without confusion.
I like the dialogue, like a story, an image of an ER room. But this is more, a planned disaster, one that has followed on from the last.
The trailing end is like a soul leaving a body - one disaster too many. . .
by Renegade Angel
You hit the nail on the head. I was using hospital imagery to make my vision easier to put together
by Meena Krish