Sitting in my room as the clock goes tick tock, 
everything is spinning, my air is thinning 
but I always seem to catch my breath'
running away from me screaming in agony as the imaginary blade peirces my soul
penetrating my mind, and they tell me this world is divine
why can't I see it as I'm locked in this big white room 
asking over and over if I can go home soon
but they tell me, "theres no hope", wondering why I'm depressed 
so I tell them "Give me a rope" or some string 
so that this dream becomes more of a fantsy than my own twisted nighmare, 
but they dont care, I'm only patient 24601
but my story's just begun,
the voices in my head are writing it for me, and they seem to tell my story better than I do. 
as if the fire I started was theirs and not mine, two. 
two bodies laying on stretchers, two, 
two lives that couldn't have ended better, two
two hearts that beat together and made one, 
one story, 
one son, 
one life, 
taken with one gun...
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 



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