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Brooding-man-2-michael-nelson

It is 3:52 AM

I am sittin in the cold outside.

Itis 43 degrees out here

It has been 2 weeks, 5 days, 9 hours and 32 minutes since my last attempt.

It has been 38 seconds and counting since my last thought of attempting again.

The freeway is 2.38 miles from where I lay.

12 seconds now.

It would take me 15 minutes at the most to run into the street

Given the hour, it would take 20-35 seconds for me to be struck, and 3 minutes to die.

The smile the thought of this has given me shows 12 teeth.

There are at the most 8 people who think of me as capable of such thoughts.

I know 0 of them personally, or in real life.

It has been a week, 4 days, and 12 hours since I have had feeling in the ring finger or pinky of my right hand.

I can read only 30% of what I have written here.

Given my attire (My underwear and a muscle shirt), it would take at the most 1 hour to die of cold.

13 of my toes feel frozen and are turing purple.

I have thought 12 times since typing this what would have happened of the 3 wounds on my body (it's not importan where they are) hadn't healed.

Then I think of the 50

Of them, at the most 5 or 6 would weep

20 would be sad and forget,

The rest probably don't even know who I am.

I have a fever of 102

My sanity is slipping back in, now

And as such, I'll go back inside.

I have shed 14 tears while writing this.

This is 1 of 4 works I wouldn't consider a poem.

But perhaps 1 will care.....

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