My chest rises and falls
And I'm painfully aware
that I am living.
But I ask you,
Is it called living
when the air you breathe
the very substance that keeps you alive
twists and twirls and takes
your breath away.
Ironic isn't it?
Is it really living
when the food you eat
the very substance that keeps you alive
is your greatest enemy in times of anger,
but fiercest ally in times of sadness?
Truly, ironic.
And is it really living
when the happiness you make,
the only thing actually keeping you here, alive.
Is it really living if it's all a lie?