Suspended on the runway,

voices that once coaxed—

"Get well soon,"

“You’ll come back stronger,"

now coo.
The last time we meet—

"Goodbye, bro.”

Break the ***.

Go peacefully.
As the last touch
 on my parchment skin numbs,

the last image blurs,

I pull away, slowly.
Language crumbles,

words collapse,

murmurs, sounds—

hollow, tingling, echoes.
Names, faces, voices fade into fog.

Spinning, spinning, out of control—

no weight, no pull,
no feeling, no pain.
Silence.
Hmmm... so is this how it ends?

Or is this how it begins?