she was approaching death <br />slowly smelling the flowers of her consciousnes, <br />she rose above a little plan, <br />thus spoke her restlessnes <br />there behind the door, <br />waited the woman in sullen attires <br />nevertheless the mess was uphealed <br />the little sanction in a little will. <br />or she smoked fumes, <br />or she drank the laze. <br />as she was about to make <br />contractions about the finititude <br />of her own life. <br /> <br />then it started to rain. <br />then the power went off. <br />she had been amazed <br />by the powers of a tiny virus, <br />how it could hold <br />wishes finally came true. <br /> <br />if the only project was a noise in a well. <br /> <br />and only living people could tell <br /> <br />how little she lived <br /> <br />there introduced, <br />as she left her brain <br />to some distant, alien, <br />unrecognizable, <br />awkward party <br />in sake of making white <br />from none, <br />to make forget the silence, <br />and the darkness, <br />and the emptiness <br />of what is known as <br />the daily life.<br /><br />celine charcoal<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-dying/
