Fingers touching, feeling. Smothered your chest is with a bandage and skin peeling.
The smell of cut grass, looking around your surrounded with damage. Waiting for the time to pass and to once again grow.
The time for dusk to come has gone, your lips peel away. The nights grown cold. You peel away.
On your last ray, the only light that could show you the way. You light it in hopes it'll keep you warm, but you realize that your body is already torn.
Lay there and wait for dispatch, lay there and hold your last match.
