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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Feel me standing there on the draw bridge that stands stubburn and erect over the rushing waters blown by the wind back and forth. I listened to the crows posted on gargoils designed of eightenth century Gothic architecture singing their death songs, when the sun is setting in the far. The voices of women passing startle me with a feeling of sorrow I can't breathe, I am dying. Feel me, can you feel me rot away? Slowly but surely rot away as time passes with ease, and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop and wave to me to get in. "No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees rattling around in their empty minds. Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner. I look at the rushing water and feel myself rot away slowly but surely rot away. Can you feel me? Can you hear me? Can you see me? Feel my heart thump with slow paces that manage to keep up with fast melodies. Of songs that play in your mind only the ones that make you sigh and think those one days in Spring time as you walked over the draw bridge and paid no mind to the water underneth. I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk of the good old times we all shared. Time has passed, as I take my last breathe and hold my chest and shead a tear. Feel me, can you? If you can, put your hand to my weak heart and feel it thump away with every second wasted on useless items. Now, see me a man of one time greatness reflect his life with a reflection in the water below. How I sigh and cry and breath heavely, as I feel myself rot away. The voices of woman pass me by. Tomorrow is a new day, for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags. As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows, feeling myself rot away. Can you feel me without you, rotting away? I surely can feel myself rot. Such a heavy word, "rot" So vulgare, yet a great description of me, without you. I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it. As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory of you away. And I shall weep no more. Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets and think of you. Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head like a lose screw. Can you feel me? Feel me rot away feel me think about you, and all your works. Can you feel me?
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