Josilinia Plyman

Last Words

You're the morphine shot.
You are my own personal high.
You call yourself comfort,
my doctor calls it euthanize.
You are every moment,
every perfect memory,
you are rapid and fill my mind
on the thresh hold of dying.
You're the fine cuisine.
You're the richest meal I've ever known.
You're the last meal I eat,
before I realize this is death row.
You're a landscaped walk,
to my own Auschwitz.
You are the roses that hide
the smell of death.

Submitted: Thursday, November 20, 2014

Topic of this poem: love and pain

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Love is a word that can be used to cover a lot of bad things. People will hurt one another and call it love. Sometimes love isn't enough. When a person hurts you, your family, rewrites your dreams to fit in his customized box, makes you feel threatened, or takes joy in causing you pain - it is not love. For some of us, it takes walking right up to rock bottom, right into physical danger, and into a room with seemingly no exits to realize that. When your demise whispers 'I love you' enough it is easy to believe, but is no less of lie. Walk away before it kills you.

Comments about this poem (Last Words by Josilinia Plyman )

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  • Gold Star - 14,520 Points John Westlake (11/20/2014 7:27:00 PM)

    What a way to kick off your collection on this site, with a barn stormer. Fantastic poem and one of the best I have read in a long time. Great work. (Report) Reply

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