There's a fly dying in the corner of my room,
Caught in the web of a spider,
Trying to escape but never succeeding.
I watch,

I picture myself in a similar situation,
Similar corner.
But instead i am caught in the spiderweb of my thoughts,
Bringing back the thoughts of numb, empty space;
Bringing up the illness of anxiety and sadness.

I type this with my fingers skirting over the keys,
Too weak to lift them properly,
So detached from my body and myself to notice that you are here,
Behind me you watch, from afar, from close by but still
you watch.
And i turn, you watch, I stand away from my body.
Ready to leave, and run; 'free at last' i think,

But that is all lies i have been taught,
even in death you are not free, but still living under someone,
or something's rule and thought.

But you take my floating shoulder of light,
And you push me back into my living body, and make me
become
something, again.