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Sign Of Death

I breathe it in. It is cool, crisp, and raw. So cool it stings my sensitive teeth. So crisp it crunches. So raw I can taste dead. I smell, bad idea. Strong scents tickle the inside of my nose. I open my eyes. Mistake. It burns. I feel them redden and swell.

The November air is a sign of death. We walk past it anyway. Some live. Some die.

I do not open my eyes anymore. I do not smell. I lost my taste. I cannot tell if I am still in cool, crisp, raw air. Or if I have made it to warm, soft, fresh air.

I grow tired of all the waiting. Wearily I breathe in. I wake up from this day dream of past and hidden records of memories. Ones of which are meant to stay closed and locked.

As I wait I feel a teardrop falling, burning my cloud white cheek. What was normal is now a red scar. Marking the pain of the past. And the future mistakes.

Another. I feel another fall. Only it is red, blood red. It had come. Come from my frowning, black, sad heart. It hurts so bad. As I try to sow it back together, I bleed more.

More teardrops fall. More marring my cheek. I’ve forgotten love. And it is slowly killing me. Like a microwave. Cooking me inside out. Making me bleed, harden, burn, tear, and mar.

My once soft, white body turns blue and purple. It burns as my fingers, hands, arms. Toes, feet, and ankles turn black. It carries throughout everything.

I have lost all feeling. Black and blue am I. Although I cannot feel. I am conscious of it all. And of you.

Lost feeling. Gained consciousness.



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