Holding On
Thinking about jumping,While kissing the edge,
I'm under this door,
Like an old wooden wedge.
The street below calls me,
Yes it's screaming my name,
The old black asphalt,
Wants my life to claim.
But I beg to differ,
This is my life to live,
It's too important to me,
It's something I won't just give.
Poetry by Justin
Read 493 times
Written on 2007-10-02 at 21:58
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