What would death be like
Would it be colorful or a dull light
Would you cry or try to understand my life
What would it take for me to stay alive tonight
A text from you would make my world better than alright
I look at my phone & see no notification lite
I shot you down like a bird in mid-flight
I can only blame myself since I took my own advise
Smoking weed as my lone vice
You didn't like how I was so concise
I couldn't let anything go without trying to take a slice
You told me, I needed to talk with christ
You weren't wrong, I just didn't like the price
I chastised all of your beliefs, so I could feel right
I didn't think of how it could come back and bite
I sit alone because I couldn't let go of that fight
Tomorrow I will be alive because our notebook is still colored bright
About the Creator
K.R Smiley
I am a young adult who is struggling like many people with: paying student loans, keeping healthy relationships, and mental health. Writing has always been a good vice to shed some of the real thoughts that go through my head.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson5 days ago in Fiction
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