The Bangs Haunts Poem by David Self

The bangs take me back, to a time life could be black.
Watching the pain, oh all the strain.

They frighten me to the point I don't want to go, making me feel lost and low.

Every year it's the low point of season, wishing they stop, or I could just drop.

Drop to sleep, and wake to meet a new day with the pray of a quieter day.

People have gone this time of the year, and I miss them like I would a peer. So even though I get by, life will always be this way until I die.