Here are some more poems.

Death

I lay on my back,

Someones hand on my chest,

Covering the hole the gunshot made.

My blood is flowing,

From the tunnel in my chest,

And all I can see,

Is her tear stained face.

Breathing is hard,

Lungs filled with blood,

I try to breath,

Get only blood,

Try again and gag on the stuff.

My eyes drift shut,

Then snap back open,

When I hear the the call,

Of the Angels pure.

My eyes close again,

As I leave my body,

And travel to the heavens,

Where I shall always look down,

To protect those I love.

Hobbies

What is a hobby?

Is it an activity you follw,

With an unrivalled passion?

For if it is,

Then my one and only hobby,

Is bleeding.

But could it be something fun,

That you do,

Just for the sake of doing it?

For if it is,

Then my hobby is,

Listening to music,

In the darkness of my room.

Or maybe,

It’s just something so simple,

Like an activity you do,

Not for the sake of doing it,

But because you simply want to?

And if this is the case,

Then I have no hobby,

And therefore,

No life…