Never been blessed more,
Gods rest called
I’m at deaths door with my bags packed and my test score.
And the pressure is less forced,
Unforgivingly,
And the weather is less fog,
More mystery.
Staring at the pearly gates,
I turn to face the world I hate,
But only hear the crackles of the burning waste and swirling haze.
I turn to pray.
Throughout life I poured memories to paper just left torn,
I just hope I’ll be remembered for something.
That dim light in your dead thought.
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