An endless mist cloaked the night in an eerie veil. The air was cold and harsh, seeping into my marrow. The haunting hooting of the owls echoed in the silence while the crickets gossiped amongst themselves. I am utterly alone yet again.
I watched as my body faded away into the mist and only my fractured mind remained. In every corner of my vision, I see fragments of myself scattered about like broken pieces of a mirror never quite fitting together: matted hair, caged eyes, frail hands, hollowed innards. It was as though I was a ghost haunting my mind, unable to escape.
I just want to be
I want to
I want to live
I want
I.

Behind those brown eyes is a veil of despair even amidst your laughter. A subtle falsehood lingers on your smiling teeth. There's a hidden limp in your gait as you hurry to race against time itself.
You offer the warmest hugs yet keep your heart a distance from every touch. Graphic tees don't conceal the truth: you have been reduced to skin and bones. Surrounded by friends, yet bound by chains of uncertainties you find yourself solitary. As night falls, you curl into a fetal position, seeking solace reminiscent of the protective embrace of the amniotic sac.
And in the mirror, a stranger stares back, unrecognizable, lost in the labyrinth of self-discovery.

As I ponder the prospect of aging, I contemplate the changes my physical form may undergo.
Will my countenance lose its youthful splendor, obscured by the passage of time like white clouds veiling the sky?
Will my once vibrant black hair fade to the hue of white lilies?
What version of myself will I remember, the exuberance of youth at fifteen, with the world seemingly at my feet, or the uncertainties that plagued my twenties?

I wonder if, with age, my lips will articulate wisdom born of experience, and if my mind will continue to comprehend the complexities of life. Will my physical vigor diminish, rendering my muscles spastic and my once nimble feet incapable of dancing carefree in the rain? Will I find solace in the simple pleasures of reflecting on a rocking chair as the birds serenade the dawn?

Amidst these musings, one question looms large: will the capacity for life endure, or will it wane with time? I find myself grappling with the uncertainty of what lies ahead, and yet, perhaps therein lies the beauty of this journey: the opportunity to begin anew with each passing day.

I see an empty house engulfed in flames from afar, then I realize I am the house, the fire, and the vast emptiness within it.

Will I ever break free?
Will I give up?
Will I give in?
Will I ever control the tides?
Will my heart ever be more than a bruised,****** fist?
Will salvation ever breathe on me?
Will despair only come unbound near?
Will my feet ever touch the ground?
Will my laughter ever mean joy?
Will I only twist and turn?
Will my lips only produce discordant tunes?
Will I ever drift far away from the nothingness?
Will I swim towards stillness?
Will I be buried in something other than tears?
Will I ever exhale?
Will I be alright?

Lay my heart in the arms of the ocean
Where ropes of despair float on the surface and peaceful rest is beneath.
Her gentle ministration lulls me to sleep, washing away the bluegreying of my spirit.
When tomorrow comes, it will be springtime
Sun razing through dreary clouds
Air dancing to the melodies of birds
Blooms of diphylleia grayi and cherry blossoms too.
The heaviness lifts from my shoulders
I can breathe again.