I know—it’s the worst crime
against oneself.
It shouldn’t be an option.
But still, I find myself
wondering…
Should I?

I breathe
for the giver of my life,
because this life—
it isn’t mine alone.
It’s yours too.

But I’m weak.
I want to stop.
Not like you—
not strong, not shining.
I’ve held on
so long
my eyes forgot
how to glisten.

I can’t complain.
I won’t.

So I’ll stop—
even if just
for hours,
days,
a week…
just to feel
less.