Perhaps We Could Chat Another Time
I shouldn't bother trying to speak, as even elemental forms
Of decency are out of reach. My chest was opened
Yesterday, was slashed. My old pacemaker was removed.
A new one took its place. The wound is sore. It outright
Hurts when I lift something or I drive. I can't get comfortable
In bed. I'm not to swim or even bathe for days. I'm apt to
Start to stink, which may prove to be for the best, as pain
Keeps me from being civil. I just shouldn't talk.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2024-08-27 at 21:40
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by Lawrence Beck Latest textsDead EndAfter We're Gone Don't be So Sensitive C'est la vie Shut Up! |
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