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Death



He climbs on top of me
foul breath, the stench of rotten eggs,
tears swimming down my face like
sweat on an ice tea glass.
His body presses hard against mine
I can't breathe, suffocating like a humid day as
his hands fondle my body.
Begging, pleading, crying
now bleeding as he snuffs out my
breath like a cigarette on the stone
sidewalk.
He leaves and I'm left
this monster called death.
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Submitted on August 11, 2016

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    "Death" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 18 Jan. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/69133/death>.

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    Lewis Carroll wrote: "You are old father William, the young man said..."
    • A. "and your hair has become very white"
    • B. "and your eyes have become less bright"
    • C. "and you're going to die tonight"
    • D. "and you seem to have lost your sight"