Dead At 25
By: Tyler Ross
Sharpened sparks shooting me still
The constant complaints I keep to myself
Lessening me now day to day
Finished at 25, I couldn’t be saved
Aching shocks come and go
Digging themselves in, they thunder below
Under my ribs and down to my arm
Too fucking young to sound the alarm
Dead at 25, the news will say
Many will weep over an early grave
Questions of why the good die young
Answers won’t come for this fallen son
Panic pains pinch and cut off my air
Random jolts to my body keep me aware
This could be it as the lights dim south
Ready to rest from this sting
My teeth gritting down inside my mouth
Over and out
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