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This story starts not at the beggining
but the end
As we rewind back the lengthy hands of time
In reverse the scene seems strange
Afterwards each piece will take its place

This limp son lies
Motionless, but a twitch
The liquid surrounding him is slowly soaked up
A mother's tears rise to her face
She rises to her feet and takes a step back
His body sits upright and rigid
Eyes open wide
The burning metal cone exits his skull
The hole, no longer red, or existant
The cold steel jumps from the floor to her hand
Her finger, clenched, is released from around it
Hands travel behind her back
The sheets float over him
Tears fly to her eyes
The door is pushed shut
Silence

Stop.
The clock is at zero
Play is pressed
It goes by too fast

silence.
  click.
    swish.
      yawn.
        plod,
          plod.
            pause.
                        cry.
                click.
                        cry.
                    click.
                      BOOM.
                        cry.
                          thud.

silence

It's done.
This was a poem I started some night after an argument. Pieced it together over a few nights. Finally published it in a blog of mine.

It was published in the blog on Sept. 20th, 2004, written a short while before that.
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Submitted on
December 10, 2006
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