Bags
The bags which stare at you
from underneath these eyes
tell no lies.
They are tell-tale signs
of the nights I have survived.
Nights that are derived
from my lack of an iron will or drive,
my knack for piss poor planning,
and my inadequate foresight.
But don’t take me as contrite.
I am just happy that I’m alive.
Pleased that I have the chance
to commit suicide, one more time.
*This is the second time I’ve posted this poem on TheCreativeRoutine. But it’s finals week so I feel it to be once again appropriate. It’s amazing that freshman year of college has zoomed by so quickly and will soon end as abruptly as it began. For everything in life, there’s a cycle I suppose.
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