Vines

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I sigh
My hair is reaching out,
Again.
Like vines
Tendrils of blonde grasping at air
Desperate for something.
Anything.

For things I enjoy.
For things that might,
Finally,
Make me happy.

For some light in this,
   A black hole.

The strands retract,
   Rotting.
  
      I'm fading.

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