Still I keep fading away
Is this what it's like to die?
If I end and nobody is around to care,
was I ever loved?

I can feel you secede when I talk of my worries
Perhaps I am not made to have problems.
Perhaps I'm better off being such a problem.
A problem better left silent.

I want nothing more than a cycle.
To come back to land that once grew fertile.
& begin to tend to it with the same care.
Lest I do not starve first.