samuel james o'brien

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NEW. MOTHA. FUCKIN. VIDEO.

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Don't Count

I am young;
Foolish, brave, depraved
In an innocent way.
I feel strong and alive,
Sometimes ready to die.

At other times not so much.
I’ll lay awake terrified,
Stumbling lost through a wet, hot night.
Aware,
Far too aware,
Of time
Breathing down my neck.

And then I rage.
Gnash and bite at the flashing taunts
From such impossible heights.
Until, eventually, as the coming of a headache,
I notice the sun rise.
Which reminds me, like a note in the handwriting
Of some long dead friend,
That I am young,
And alive, again.