New short poem. Opinions please?

Beth Holland

New member
Their it is*
That wire you once dreamed of
Ready to hang it high
Ready to fall to your cutting death

With open scars covering your body
You climb up the tree*
To the wire
Wraping it around your neck
Soon blood begins to fall
As you let your weight go
You took your last breath*
And hung helplessly limp
From the great big oak tree
 
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