It's just poetry, it won't bite


08.19.17 Posted in today's words by

Austin Brookner lives and writes in Austin, Texas. 

By Austin Brookner

Those horrible white lights
And that incessant sound—whatever in the hell it was
Metronomically stabbing
If not for my haze and dampened faculties
It would be unbearable

“Why am I not dead?”
Followed by
“I have to get out of here”

The black orderly is calm
Holding my wrist in her hand
Is it today or tomorrow?

The concrete underneath my feet felt padded
As I walked out of there
And beautifully sad
There is no better feeling than leaving your life

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