My Way OutA Poem by Not here
Please call my only doctor
and somebody call the nurse. Message my taxi driver and his ever loyal hearse. Please call my momma. And maybe call my dad. Tell them that I love them; convince them that I'm not bad. 'Cause I'm on my way out. It took a while to see, see, I'm been on my own. Free. Livin' life like my king. Not worried about a thing. Now you think I'm fine, aye? Livin' my life my way. Only problem is I would rather give up and die. Now without a single doubt I'm moving on my way out. Please call my only doctor and somebody call the nurse. Message my taxi driver and his ever loyal hearse. Please call my momma. And maybe call my dad. Tell them that I love them; convince them that I'm not bad. 'Cause I'm on my way out. What do you say? Why don't we spend a day doing what we like. It's like learning to ride a bike. Try, try and fall. Learn to make the call. For once in your life pretend you're not on the floor. Take another step and open up the scary door. Close it behind you. My door's another route. Back behind the counter, where the men all sit and pout. 'Cause I'm on my way out. Expected another chorus, did ya? Used to my repetitive patterns? Tricked ya. Does that rhyme? Does that chime? I don't care at all because it's my time. No more time to waste, I'm hopping on my own bandwagon as we go round and round. My tone has changed over the past few months, as you know. I don't know where it will stop or the places it will go. But I write faster every time, leaving patterns behind. Making my own path down a road. These chains, they bind my ankles so tightly and sometimes it's hard to walk. Even harder to talk. All they do is balk. Now we're all alone, right? Nights are shining so bright. Our phones are shiny twilight. We're heading for the last flight. Faster, faster, closer, louder. Thin and flaky, lost like powder. That's the description of our fame. The one we earn from a stupid game. The one we earn by a stupid name. The one we'll give our lives to tame! But I'm sick of this mess. I'm sick of social doubt. I'm sick of inequalities, and learning to live without. So take this message, keep it. I'm on my way out. Please call my only doctor and somebody call the nurse. Message my taxi driver and his ever loyal hearse. Please call my momma. And maybe call my dad. Tell them that I love them; please convince them I'm not bad. 'Cause I'm on my way out. Take my life! Take my life! Take my days! Destroy my strife! Take my head! Take my bed! Take the demons inside my head! GET OUT! Oh. Oh. I'm on the way out. At last. I'm on the way (((((()))))))))) () () ()()() () () () () () () () () () () ()()())))(((((() () () () () () () () ( () () () () () () () ))))()((()(()))( () () () ()()()()() () () ((
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Added on February 3, 2016Last Updated on February 3, 2016 Author
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