I reach above me, desperately,
To grasp a world brighter than my own.
But I let my arms fall, failing again.
Air passes between my lips,
Escaping in a soft sigh,
As I rest my head against the damp grass.
The blades scratch my wrists,
Already sticky and red.
It won’t be much longer now,
Before I reach the world beyond my own.
I don’t know if it will be above or below
The one I lie dying in now.
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