The End Poem by Ann Thrope

The end is drawing near
and breathing has become a chore.
My blood is boiling hot,
coursing through my open veins.
I am slipping in and out of consciousness,
trying to die,
trying to open my eyes.
I see no future,
no light at the end of my tunnel,
no hope of not wanting to die.
My breath catches.
For one second i am paralyzed..
'Am I dead? '
the only clear question in my mind.
Then i inhale and cry,
i didn't want this..
Blood spills onto the ground around me,
forming my own dark halo and wings.
My senses are soaring-
i feel no pain.
I see opening gates,
greedy hands reaching to save me.
I can only turn and run,
stumbling into the darkness.