Fantasy of a dying man

Old stuff

Christmas Eve is here
Yet I do not cheer
I look right here
And at myself I jeer

I sit here and pout
And think of how
I'm such a lout
My life won't count

So I plot
I plan
I hope
To die

Murder, Death, Suicide
All the same to me
Just an escape
From this reality

I want to go far off
To places I've never dreamt of
Where I can sit in the trees
And scoff at my knees

With never a care
I'd sit right there
And then I'd stare
Off into the distance

And off in the distance
A crow, it does caw
It comes to take my soul away
I know this becuase I saw

When a crow caws
Death follows behind
And when the lark caws
I'll be left behind

A husk of a man
No more cares in the world
I've finnaly gotten free
I've escaped reality....

Author's Notes/Comments: 

More happy Christmas poems, 11-24-02. And no, these are not caused by Caitlin, so please don't blame her.

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