We stand side by side on the ledge. It's time to fall for nothing and stand for something. Unhook your fingers from mine and watch as I go.
"Your Grace? Your Worship? Your Honour?" I plead. This sentence is over now let me speak.
My air supply diminishes; the heaving of my chest slows as permanent sleep comes naturally.
(Death Day Brigadier please, oh please will you can the ad libs? This isn't a commentary hour it's my life.)
This feeling its waning: it's just like 'sweet release' and nothing.
I think my lungs have stopped working. Something's happening and all I can think about is trivialities like the too bright sun.
My lungs hurt more than I care to know. I hate how you can make me miss something I never knew I wanted, never knew I needed... never knew I had...
I do have my head in the clouds and I like it.
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