poetry critical

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May 24, 2000

Shattered mirrors on the floor
My cut up feet not feeling
I can't hear things anymore
My knees are slowly kneeling
He stands with a gun at his head
Pulls the trigger
Now he's dead.
Life wasn't much for him
Considered it to be a sin
His fate was brought upon himself
As I bleed upon the bottom shelf
Not hearing life anymore.

27 Mar 07

(define the words in this poem)
(1 more poem by this author)

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