Every Day, Every Morning - Poem by Brad Purvis
Every day, every morning,
i wake to a beating heart of which it slows,
bleeding from the emptyness it now feels,
suffering from the grip of exhaustion, depression and lonlyness.
I create a bucket to contain the blood, hoping it will stop,
it just continues spilling over,
as i wash the ground which it spilt, it only thickens,
why must it not stop? can it stop?
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