assisted suicide
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Here we are,on this 2nd day of spring,Nothing seeming wrong,But now here you are,in my arms,barley breathing.and slowly dying,or so i thought.You finally wake,your shirt stained with tears.
My skin is paper
Thin and weak
I look for shields
Over the weeks.
My skin is a canvas
Nice and strong
Ready for painting
All night long.
But my time is nearing
