I doing something very specific in this poem, of my own device. You have one week to guess the theme. Good luck. Go.
Die shows six, people say,
"That," they whisper, "crazy guy,"
Then they wither into hay!
(These are my dreams.) Stay,
To disbelieve me after my:
"Okay, it's yours to say."
I'll be smarter next time,
Won't believe things you say.
Can't come over, can't play?
But you didn't say why.
Anyway, life goes on, a
little, here, and there. I
want to live, walk away
from this misery, to a
better place. You stay, try
Try to follow, unless they
had already gone to decide
If exactly I can say
What the people meant today,
Not believing you or I.
Away with you! Don't stay!
I'm gone away, giving my
Whole entire life to stay,
In this room, for a
While, so we may cry.
Cry for life gone away.
I meant I already try,
try to live here anyway.
Why can't things be okay?
My dreams wither... They die.
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