by Angelia Mahaney

Created on: August 05, 2008

The essence of death creeps up my nose
It tells me I did it wrong, whatever I chose
I made the hardest decision of my life
But the result stabbed me like a knife
I made the wrong choice
I should cut my throat so I have no voice
I cry and I cry to try to make it better
But all it does is wet my shirt and sweater
I feel empty and cold
My soul should be sold
People tell me it will get better with time
But I know it's just riddles and rhymes
I know I will die this way
In a world not black, not white, but gray

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