The Last Thing I Remember
There is a knock at the door. I’m sure it is them.
I always knew they would want me back again.
My soul is too free, my mind is too opened,
And I’m still letting secrets slip out of my pen.
So, this is it, this is the last page I’m creasing.
They won’t go away, the pounding’s increasing.
I hear a shout and a smash, the door releasing.
Then a bang, smell of gas, and I think I’m sleeping….
© Christopher Allen Breidinger
Excerpt from the book “Poet Christopher’s
Scenes, Dreams, and Golden Schemes”
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Photo Credit: © 2/Barbara Penoyar/Ocean/Corbis