My Death.

The end is something we all contemplate,
Wondering, fearing, 'When's my due date?'

Will it be quick? Will it be slow?
Who will find out? Will anyone know?

Will anyone care that I lay underground?
If I am murdered will I ever be found?

Or will I leave with my own blood on my hands?
When I have died before who will I stand?

Mabey there's nothing that come's once I've left.
I guess I'll find out when my life meet's my death.

Poem by Siyas

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