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People die everyday a facts a fact.
Our loved ones can't fake that last breath.
Even if they try, you don't see the fog on the mirror cause that oxygen is no more.
We can hold our last breath but we still here in this chaos right.
You see the grime reaper, he don't disappear.
We got no more time to play with life, I suggest breathe this air until the day you die.
Cherish what you have before you bite that dirty dusty dirt six feet under in that box where you can't see the light.
Give up that hug before it's your last flight.
Pray for those who lost there life.
See you later as you is now my angel.
Please keep me with a positive vision as you are now my guide to life.
If I take my last breath, please don't mistake me for someone else.
Grime Reaper plays no games in this hood.
No particular name on a stray flying bullet.
Now we have covid, the next strand of an upper boujee flu.
Taking lives just as fast as the idiots shooting them guns.
Lame o lame o that grime reaper creeps, look out you just got six feet deep.
Submitted by PoeticER on July 16, 2021
- 1:03 min read
- 7 Views
|Closest metre||Iambic heptameter|
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Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
"Last Days" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 21 Mar. 2023. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/105130/last-days>.
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