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.

Sudden gasps.
Deep breaths for air.
A question.
Do they really care?

The thump.
Hammering in my chest.
A question.
Who knows of me best?

A shine.
Glistening in my eye.
A question.
Can they make me cry?

A smile.
Widening on my face.
A question.
Is it out of place?

A question.
Should I dare ask?
The happiness.
Was it a mask?

Everything,
Stopping
Gasping
Thumping
Shining
Smiling

A stop.
Preventing me of breath.
A question,

With blood exploring every inch,
Trails of footsteps under my skin,
Reminding themselves of the places they had been.

As if they are waiting for a end that will never begin,
All entered in a competition to the thought they'd never win,
My mind an open ground for dumping.

The raging heart hammer once again thumping,
These soft inhales, my chest lifting and jumping,
Thick polluted air failing to contaminate,
The stars in your heart illuminate.

Dark dull spacious eyes hoping to duplicate,
Breathing a universe back of love to a abyss of hate ,
Reaching the victory only to contemplate

Maybe I'll live not to survive.
I think I am alive.