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Updated on April 5, 2017


I heard the droning,


of the dead spirits far away,

their sorrows would play,

as my hand moved toward my throat,

lingering there as the cries grew,

I drew

a small, slow breath,

as death

slowly wandered,

then anticipation rose in my chest,

the strange, euphoric energy was my test,

filling me with endless haunts,

endless taunts,

but it made me bold,

my blood ran cold,

I was restless,

but not without courage,

it turned me into someone else,

so I jumped,

the building was high,

and like a bird I’d fly,

then there was no sound,

as I violently hit the ground.

© 2011 Frank Atanacio


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    • Frank Atanacio profile image

      Frank Atanacio 5 years ago from Shelton

      thanks Carol for reading

    • carol3san profile image

      Carolyn Sands 6 years ago from Hollywood Florida

      Both poems are very sad, but I guess that can't be helped because you are talking about suicide. But still, they are very well written.