With blood cascading constantly,
These narrow glim lines under my pale skin,
I question, maybe I'm alive.

That the raging hammer thumping,
The hollow heart in my chest,
Means I am simply existing.

These soft inhales and exhales,
Thick polluted air,
It must mean something.

Though it could be confusion,
Simply too real to be illusion,
Definitely not delusion.
Maybe I've come to a conclusion.
To end my manic mental drive,
Maybe I'll live not to survive.
I think I am alive.