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Sweet Black Death

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Jumping from ten thousand feet
The night air, an infinity that swallows me
My heart, a freight train on fire
Falling, a wet path cut into my lower back by a lustful tongue
Weightlessness, the sweet and delirious haze of an afternoon joint
The rush, an intentional and confident hand lightly skating up my inner thigh
My inability to breathe, as if drowning in a deafening waterfall

And some might say,
“She has a death wish”
But, I do not

I simply had faith that the parachute I had secretly tucked away was mine
That its colorful fabric remained faithful and warm against my back while I surrendered to the night air
That it would never fail to, even after the wildest ride, set me gently and safely on my feet
And knowing this filled me with a complete and uninhibited freedom to fall with joy

But it is not mine
My pack is often empty
My heart, wrapped in paralyzing webs of forming ice
The sun, revealing the imperfections in your fabric
And now I am fearful
That falling would be only a sad and senseless suicide
Despite my vast love for, and allure of
The night air

 
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