The Hanged, Castoffs And Worn

My life is a knot just waiting to be tied, and

I want to avoid the noose for as long as possible.

Nimble fingers construct the object that is

To end me, that is to be a harbinger of death

And force it upon me. I will tighten 'round my

Neck, trap all of my limited air in my lungs,

And sometimes I wish I was new, a fresh 'vie'.

The End

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