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I’m writing a poem.

A poem with a twist.

The pencil is my razor.

The paper is my wrist.

 

I’m writing a poem.

A poem in red.

The pencil is my bullet.

The paper is my head.

 

I’m writing a poem.

A poem with thrills.

Then pencil is my mouth.

The paper is my pills.

 

I’m writing a poem.

A poem without hope.

The pencil is my neck.

The paper is my rope.

 

I’m writing a poem.

A poem with pain.

The pencil is my needle.

The paper is my vein.

 

I’m writing a poem.

A poem about death.

I’m writing this line,

as I take my last breath.

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