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Untitled 7


Guest Rustic Monk

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Guest Rustic Monk

Untitled 7

Gabriel Duncan

Got a message from hope and returned it to sender

Gave up on hope since my life’s in the blender

Wonder where he went, when he went under water

No use now, my distress is cannon fodder

I’m locked and loaded, so no one comes near

Tradgedy sped up my clock, it feeds on my fear

I feel it stalking me

Waiting for me to drop to my knees

Suicidal thoughts are simple

It’s living on that’s the hardest

Limping on through life

Lying, playing like life’s a fucking funfest

And it’s not even done yet

Can we please start over

Forget the past

And stop living each day as the last

I’m so tired of running

My legs are falling off

My eyes are blood shot

I can’t see

But I can’t stop

I’ve been sniffing that fucking yoke

Ever since he left the farm

And the last thing I want to do is cause bodily harm

But I’m hurting so bad, I just want him back

Please, just bring him back

I could write more, there's so much I want to say. But this is good for now. Seems like all this shit is bubbling up. Agh, this sucks.

This goes with that other poem, "just another suicide, wasn't looking to fly". i forget what I named it. this is untitled 'cause I hate giving titles to things.

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Hey Gabe.

This one... your poems are usually connected, unified. This one seems like you have several things going on at once. Maybe it's a few different poems or thoughts together. ...Eh, don't mind me, I'm probably full of it. Besides, I have trouble sticking to a rhyme and meter.

There are some great couplets and triplets in here. I was going to pull 'em out and comment, but that seemed like belaboring the point and ignoring why you wrote it, so, I'm letting it be.

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Guest Rustic Monk

the first stanza is pretty straightforward

I?m locked and loaded, so no one comes near

Tradgedy sped up my clock, it feeds on my fear

I feel it stalking me

Waiting for me to drop to my knees

I edited out two more lines from that stanza that I knew wouldn't make sense. Basically I meant to say that people can see what's going on in my eyes. So they don't want to be around me. Tradgedy sped up my [biological clock], which means i'm closer to death. Tradgedy feeds on fears. It's stalking me, waiting for a time when I'm weak.

The next stanza is pretty straight forward.

Suicidal thoughts are simple

It?s living on that?s the hardest

Limping on through life

Lying, playing like life?s a fucking funfest

And it?s not even done yet

I don't know, the only thing I'd note is that teenagers think they're going to die very soon. (see also: superman syndrome)

Can we please start over

Forget the past

And stop living each day as the last

I?m so tired of running

My legs are falling off

My eyes are blood shot

I can?t see

But I can?t stop

The begining is more something I would say to someone or someone would say to me if the paralytic moping has gone on long enough. Running . . . Blood shot eyes can mean drugs. Or tears. Depends on how much affect the word running carries.

I?ve been sniffing that fucking yoke

Ever since he left the farm

And the last thing I want to do is cause bodily harm

But I?m hurting so bad, I just want him back

Please, just bring him back

I don't want to explain the yoke thing again. This is pretty much just a repetition of the primary notions and a really direct . . . well, you know.

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Uh, I was dense and tired, and missed thinking of recent events I knew about with you, and missed the reference to the other poem too. Stupid of me. -- I wasn't thinking at my best when I read and posted last night.

I've kinda been there. Different people, different situations, but some of the same feelings.

Best wishes, Gabe. Get through it. -- We may be jerks at times, but you're more than just pixels on the screen.

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