I once had angels in my head
telling me what should be said,
and demons at my side
telling me that I should die.
So I dipped the quill into red ink,
not entirely sure what to think,
and began the telling of my story,
as I let the rest of my body bleed.
My last words were of my final breath,
as I looked now towards my death.
Suddenly, I could feel a chilling air,
creeping in quietly, and out of nowhere.
I looked around and saw a ghost,
a mirror image of my lonely soul.
It was true that I had sadly died,
not finishing all I’d wished to write.
I stared blankly into empty space,
as I looked towards my final resting place,
and all that I could clearly see,
were lost memories of you and me.
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