Your sight dims, your eyes won't follow the rules
You brace yourself grabbing wildly hoping to grasp something solid; hoping not to fall into the swirling black that approaches
Sounds taper off, the way it does when you are under water. And you are suddenly aware of your own heart racing.
Is this it?
Is this it?
Will I ever feel lips on mine again; soft like petals; smelling of mint or butterscotch.
Your stomach clenches like a fist.
Is this it?
Will I every dance to the rhythm of rain drops, or lie in the arms of the one who smells of polo aftershave and soap. Is this my end. And if it is, why must I bare it alone.
