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Is sleeping not enough to put to rest
A mind, run down as this with discontent,
Or this, my heart, beating against my chest?
No horrors born of dreams offer relent.
A brutal prison, a sleeping mind,
To liberate such a horrid thought as suicide.
The fear of death—a terror not confined.
To say she is fine is a lie; she lied.
And yet, it does allow a sick release
To barrel through and right off the edge.
A fall into abyss will not be ceased,
Unless awoken. An endless fall takes no courage.
To welcome darkness—tightly hold its hand—
But open eyes to light, and feet on land.