There is a dying branch
Outside my window.
Humming along with one headphone in,
There came a prickling in my legs-
That were injured a week past.
The pain grew mad,
I can’t breathe
The silver glass of the cold window,
Closed so tight,
I began to cry desperately as my shaking, unsteady palms dragged along the glass-
Leaving broken handprints.
The world’s started dancing.
Or is that just me?
Everything’s going black-
What was that thump?
What’s going on?
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