Being Me
Bleeding gently
Screaming soft
No more breathing
Feeling lost
Lost and drifting
Through the sea
Thinking back to
Being me
I don't miss it.
Silence, sound.
Finding places
Feeling Drowned.
Safe and gentle
Death is free
And I don't miss it,
Being Me.
poem by Jereldene Calvert
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
