And of course it was you I dreamt of
when my hands were tired
and my face went numb
and nothing at all seemed to matter
to the hopeless eyes
that watched the light slowly fade
and trickle into darkness.
It could only ever be you
that my thoughts drifted to
and grasped too tightly,
too firmly,
that even the darkness began
to resemble light
and the blade felt too much like your hand
to notice the difference between
blood and sweat
and what it feels like to be dying
or simply falling asleep
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