I exhaled the last breath,
And i felt like my soul was about to leave.

Because with every breath, the air becomes harder to inhale each time.

When I write, I am in my own world. An entire different world.
Putting this world into words to bring it to vitality , where the true me indepth exists.

My thoughts are my enemies, and overthinking is my best companion , joining along with my soul that ignited the two different worlds , as the world inside my head and the world where my unfortunate reality lays , are connected in those writings of mine.

Once I hold my pen, it seems like I could write endlessly for eternity.
The intellectual me is raging for more and more vitality , it's deeply intricate where my thoughts and those worlds meet.

But my thoughts are the biggest cravers for their freedom. And there, in my mind , I live and in words and letters , I expose my true inner self.

Touching those walls, seeing those people, realizing that this will be the last time I'll be here.

"Write me a poem, Write me a poem" he said.
And this boy and those words never left my head.
Where do I start , where do I end.
Do I begin with my feelings or do i begin with his.
Do I write about his pure soul or do I write about his words.
As every hello he greets, down came the night,
And **** I wish it never comes to an end.
No matter the trouble, this boy is in depth,
A poem that's always in my head.

The silence, becomes too unusual without having you around.

My dreams and my writings are both the worlds filled with grief and sadness , but not as much the world my reality is in.

All those people, they say they care.

They say they'll be there for me, they say they believe in me.

They tell me that I'm beautiful, and that Im a worthy to live.

But those people , I do not believe.

Their words and their looks of sympathy , makes me lose hope in myself even more.