Help.

I am not afraid of the waves of suffering. 

All that I am afraid of is carrying on with my selfish ways. 

Near my grave you will hear the leaves rustling.

I am not fully dead, most of me will leave my grave. 

For I am not the one you can save.

Sick of the loss of feeling every day.

"Help Help Help" my mother would have cried!

"God did not call her name, it was not her time to die".

This poem is about: 
Me

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