by Lizz Kessler

Created on: May 12, 2009

Back Pocket

If you touch my lips you'll find that they're cold

Like ice so chilling, it can chill the soul

They are the lips that speak dark words you would wish away,

But dark words of truth.

If you can feel my breath you'll find that it's stale

It's air that's been breathed too much

I've been in this place too long

So long now, even nature forgets that I am here

If you can see my eyes, you'll find that they're grey

In this dim light they lack life

But behind them is a heart that still beats

Struggling for sympathy, begging for mercy

My back against this wall, cold and black

I sink into unconsciousness, where its not so cold,

But fevered with desperation to break free,

To rage against the dying light.

The object of interest is the gun in my hand

Fated to do my misery away, to cut so deep

So I can't feel the pain, but I always will

For bad fortune has always been in my back pocket

And I know it'll curse me still, even in death.

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