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Why’s it so dark?

Tingling becomes flaming pain.

Close to my-

Am I being born?
Will I make Daddy proud?

The pain worsens.
Weakened,
I involuntarily jerk.

Whose hands are these?

Brown and pink and stale cream,
the colors smeared with time.

I struggle to cover my eyes in a
desperate peek a boo with this
decaying panorama.

Gnarled, cadaverous hands
fall flutter to my sides.

I have awakened to die.

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