the fireball disappears and
the street lamp is plastered
against black

pitter patter of soft feet
underneath brown material
she scurries

a shadow flits past and instinct
takes over as she faces it
a mere memory

her heart drumming at her chest
a throbbing mass of nothingness
it's already gone

knees touch ground as last wisps
come through her nose
she's dead

im depressed. the poem above sounds like i have a deathwish but i really dont im just.. sad.