Died on a stretcher

scretcher

I died some hours ago. Still can feel the memory of my heat in this heart; without beats it’s not mine anymore, I’m a beast. Can’t you hear me?

I’m standing in front of myself; died on a stretcher white, like the void; red, as sorrow; grey, matching the indifference. I swear I’m right there; without breath he’s not me anymore, he’s a breeze. Can’t you see him?

I wake up, but I wasn’t sleeping, or maybe I’ve just fallen asleep, lying on this white, red and grey bed. I’m looking at myself, standing at me. Can’t you feel us?

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