The Dead Poets Society

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If so many great poets,

have ended in this way,

Woolf, Weldon, Hemingway,

Why not I? Why not today?

The hour of life is far too long

to spend trapped within a head;

a web of thoughts. Please. Let me

join the ranks of the greatest dead.

Plath, Berryman, Sexton.

I feel as if I understand thee.

Perhaps I can never be more

than a turbulent tendency…

Allow me to attempt, and my

last letter- my last goodbye!-

will be both brief and beautiful,

just like a little butterfly.

Permit my blood to flow from veins.

Just like a river; full of life.

Within minutes I will have faded.

All gone. At the hands of a knife.

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