By Heart
Animals like possums play dead,
They can’t run so have to pretend,
The body dies but the mind survives,
That’s what it takes to save their lives,
It’s a process called death-feigning,
We do this too by persuading,
That we are bright and full of life,
But near we always keep a knife,
A form of poison to stay numb,
A darkness we can come back from,
Like the possum we also play,
We play alive so we can stay,
Even if just for one more day.
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