Raindrops from above,

the tear drops fell upon her.

Lay in a room,

friends and family around her.

Scared and confused.

She found comfort from the mild moderate beeps,

the machine beside her.

With no warning she began to rise,

floating up towards the skies.

She looked down at the canvas she once knew as herself.

Marshmellow Clouds and Golden Gates.

A welcoming congregation from whom she once knew,

the deceased,

they held her close,

kissed her,

and she felt safe.

Again with no warning,

she plumeted back to the ground,

back in the room smelling of dettol,

back on the bed,

as hard as nails.

Yet no more comforting, beeping sound,

no more pain and she looked around,

struggling with short, sharp breaths,

she knew she was alive.

Yet death, no longer conjured fear,

as she, from first hand, was certain

there was somewhere else beyond here.

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