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Leukemia
December 26, 2010
I came to visit you one day
but stopped to draw sketches of cigarettes
in the hospital parking lot.
Rode the elevator to the roof and I
could see myself from the outside,
wanting to drop off the edge;
to feel the wind on my face
for the last time.
I came to ask you, What's it like
to know you're about to die? I think
I should like the feeling. It seems
it would be something close to peaceful.
© Anonymous
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