Poor Man’s Grave

Suicidal ideation,

more a pastime,

than a way of life.

I’m a pauper,

in a poor man’s grave.

I was never satisfied.

I’m alive now,

in a whole new way.

A place where I was

before I came

into this space.

Wishing is a hollow point,

and hope is just a carnival.

I’m on a ride,

my mind is so sure,

that I wanted something more.

Strip me

in the cold, night air.

So cold,

it could freeze diamonds.

I’m a pauper,

in a poor man’s grave.

Whatever I was looking for,

I’m finding.

Right here,

right now,

I’m finding out.

 

HG – 2019

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