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Scott.

The dead cold needle touching my skin,
My ice cold breathe drawn far from within,
A sharp intake, of air short lived,
Should I really have done what I just did?

I took the needle, over-flowing with death,
Put it into my life, my soul, just a vein,
My life slowly goes, what can I say?
I should know that they'd miss me.

But this isnt about them, its about me and mine,
My problems, my mind, my addiction,
I can barely remember before and after,
Just the needle, my vein, my thoughts all mixed up.

My pulse slipping, my breathe stops.

Scott, I love you.. the last thing I heard.

This poem is about my cousin who died from a drug overdose. I couldnt put it into words well.

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