the excruciating pain of forcing myself to breathe in the toxic air
is that compared to one
pressing a blade to a vein
and slicing open the skin so tightly stitched together.
life was meant to be explored,
meant to be valued.
not a place to feel trapped in,
a place to despise.
why do people feel the need to push others towards their very edge,
dangling on their fingertips.
stepping on fingers, making even the last fragment of hope an absurd wish.
life leads to death,
somehow though I have become acquaintances with
the grim keeper
along my road towards darkness.