The smell of wet paper

ink bled when
the pen sailed through
the puddled tears
collecting on a piece
of notebook paper
and some of her last
words were muddled
and hard to discern
their intent were as
clear as the August day
she decided not to
any longer
the kick of the stool
was her last choice
the strength of the
rope was her last hope
and the August wind
took away her last breath