Lysistrata small box

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I feel my lungs fill as I drop closer to the cold sea bed
My right palm aches as I crush it back and forth into my head
The rays of the sun they jitter on my pale blue skin
Distorted by the waves that make their way towards the bay
pushing outwards on these walls
but they don't move an inch
they just seem to get closer
dig my grave, dig it, I'm ready
Breeze. Blocks.
Breeze blocks in my head.
Push. Me.
Push me off the edge.
Breeze. Blocks.
Breeze blocks in my head.
Push. Me.
Push me off the edge.

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