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I could never write the last poem.

by Meghan Helmich

I am wasting
(hundreds, thousands)
breaths and minutes,
grinding teeth and
holding hands with
smiling faces.
crawling into bed
under the blue glow
of morning.
skipping through songs
until some kind of voice
echos these things,
folding and unfolding.

wearing others clothes and
smoking, chewing, swallowing
things I do not pay for.
shaving legs, cold and skin.
sleeping through day
where I am expected.
closing eyes and mouth,
resisting the natural quake,
riding in cars,
trying to make all still.
playing with numbers and
lettering to explain dosage.
paying, paying, paying.

04/12/2006

Posted on 03/13/2007
Copyright © 2024 Meghan Helmich

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Max Phineas on 07/24/08 at 04:35 AM

I find this so profound and fascinating. Really quite unique and beautiful.

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