by Madison Lang

Created on: June 09, 2008

death table for one please.
curl into a ball and wait for the inevitable
wanting nothing more than a nice casket
and a lot of 'breathing room'
etches a poem out in red on her arm
wondering where the pain is, and why
it doesnt start when the blood starts to
f
l
o
w
someone will catch me
and i wont fall into the darkness
(no matter how much i want it...)
And I do.. I crave the serenity
of the dark hereafter, of nothing,
of no one.
For I am alone, always.
breathing sparsely, indiscreet
trying hard to hide out in my
living room on the computer
and dying more every day.

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