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3
Poetry
The knife carves peace on my wrist.
Amogha
The lights are out.
Or is it my vision growing fader?
I try to flutter my eyelids;
Seems like I have no energy right now.
I breathe; a gallon full of air.
My lungs are stiffening.
It's hard to take this much iron air,
I breathe out.
I'm lying on a cold floor,
Or is it a flower bed?
My body has numbed its senses, I guess.
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