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life as we know it

Poetry

Being a poet is like being really sick. But instead of vomit, words come out. This is my word vomit.

arms

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by kdandurb

by kdandurb

                                    
                                              i've thought about death
                          many times.
                          how nice it would be 

                          to let go.
                          or how i'd never feel 
                          pain or sadness again.
                          maybe that's why 
                          i let the blade so tenderly
                          kiss my skin.
                          because when i think of
                          life without you,
                          it's more painful than any
                          bullet to the heart.
                          and the only reason
                          i'm not dead yet,
                          is because i want to die in your arms.
                          -k.d.