Then I Dive Into My Tent Before

I Swing My Arms To Loosen Myself Up. Place My Fists On My Hips. Then Drop Them To My Sides. Saliva's Filling My Mouth At A Ridiculous Rate And I Feel Vomit At The Back Of My Throat. I Swallow Hard And Open My Lips So I Can Get The Stupid Line Out And Go Hide In The Woods And-that's When I Start Crying.

Every Day When I Wake I Tell Myself That It Will Be My Last. If You Are Not Trying To Hold On To Time, You Are Not So Afraid Of Losing It... And Then, If You Make It To Bedtime, You Feel The Joy Of Cheating Death Out Of One More Day.

All Those Months Of Taking It For Granted That Peeta Thought I Was Wonderful Are Over. Finally, He Can See Me For Who I Really Am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I Hate Him For It.

Yeah, We Wouldn't Want To Lose Our Little Mockingjay When She's Finally Begun To Sing.

It's As If I'm Finnick, Watching Images Of My Life Flash By. The Mast Of A Boat, A Silver Parachute, Mags Laughing, A Pink Sky, Beetee's Trident, Annie In Her Wedding Dress, Waves Breaking Over Rocks. Then Its Over.