Death

This poem was written by my twelve-year-old sister.

 

Why do I love death?

No for real, why on earth?

It sweeps you off your feet

and comes when you’re asleep.


I think I knew someone

who wanted to be gone.

She said that she was done

and life is no more fun.


Suicide is not the answer.

You cannot just surrender

and throw life in your hamper.

Now it should be obvious;

death is not so glorious.

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