I woke her up, this beautiful angel I’ve trapped in a mortal body. Woke her up from her slumber so complete she left her ego somewhere deep within the recesses of the folded flaps inside her mind. The pink and the gray intermixed and intertwined, receptors doused in the religion of the masses but for oxygenated blood pumping no room is left. She woke up, her soul escaping, hissing, through her nostrils until I say the magic blessings for her holiness to join once again with her enraged sinuses. She woke me up, flopped on the floor, covered in the oxygenated blood meant for the pink and gray folds but instead staining our earthly mores. We woke up in the distance between an ambulance and a hearse, a fraction of a millimeter so thin her sinusoid rhythms tip the scales. What did she take I’m asked – I fumble through her purse. Hope oscillating ferociously wishing for sighs of relief to fill the open space. Cycles quickly lost to rattling, to life forces pulverized by pulmonary edema. Scar tissue quickly thickly growing within the home she once called breathing, sighs replaced by sights of white tunnels, and funnel cakes and all the things you hallucinate when Dimethyltryptamine releases and says its piece – it’s peace out, here’s some memories you might want to catch up on but there isn’t much time so cherish the thoughts and all of the times you had together because that last 15 seconds doesn’t last forever and here she is on a metal table unable to talk to the other version of herself she’s falling so slowly away from. Come back to me she says, but there is no her left to come back to. No longer does she suffer, dear sleeper, but no longer is she.