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On death.

By Glass ShardsPublished 2 months ago 1 min read
On death.
Photo by Miguel Alcântara on Unsplash

tick, tick, ticking echoes through

the mind i call my own

so incredibly loud

My pathetic state

my pathetic jokes

my pathetic whining

facade never falling

not being pretty

when i’m crying

undesirably moody

when not trying

heart clenching at every passing


Or third

what it was the fourth?



can’t feel which one

all i know is the last two were not surprises

and the latest

i barely felt


it’s too much

oh, the pity

my condolences

i’m so sorry

it’s okay

but it’s not

i’m not

nothing is

but it will be


perhaps once the clock

Stops ticking…

slam poetrysad poetryFree Verse

About the Creator

Glass Shards

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Comments (3)

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  • Esala Gunathilake2 months ago

    I was reading a mind related article inside this poem. Well done!

  • angela hepworth2 months ago

    Chilling stuff, amazing poem

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