Doesn’t really hurt.

Just lets out the grief.

maybe someone will notice

and give me arms instead of razor blades.

I am broken

when they do not

hold.

So small, so innocent

so sick, so many tubes

so soon, so long

gone.

No light, no sight

fingers slowly find patterns

and become eyes.

The window opens.

Never took the leap,

out-stared the fear, or

went all in.

Never trusted their own ability to fly.