My Pulse
too many lives to save
no room on the wind
as whispers find fault with the choice made
to find a way to keep an exit close
a bullet in the chamber set ready go at all times
the pressure to preserve
things we fake like hate, love and don’t deserve
a heart pounded past pieces’ dust to gas
the stranger in your bed is the one that visits me instead
of helping it craves me dead
a plan in secret
the clues they lead me
to have the passing known
Copyright © R William Standish | Year Posted 2020
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