Losing Is Winning

I am losing it.

My hands desperately try to hold on.

But I know I am too weak.

You always did say that, you know.

Maybe I should've toughened up.

It's too late now.

The feeling is sand.

It flies away.

I am sandstorm.

The birds are music.

They fly away.

I am song.

The people are pain.

I hurt.

Who am I?

Too late, I think.

As I fall to my death.

At least I have discovered who I am.

I have found the inner beauty.

Maybe if we all searched

Before we found

Another way

Maybe then

We would be happy

As if I wasn't dead anyway.