I struggle to breathe when I think about my actions.
I struggle to feel what my heart wants to feel.
I plot my own demise and think how best to word it.
Because sometimes my only gift seems to be my absence.

I give by taking away.
And it cuts me.

They wouldn't really mind - not for long anyway.
It's all just a mist, right? A vapour?
But I've got to get up every morning - regardless of my desires - because I'm still too scared to let go.
And if my gift is Absence, then I pray it happens quickly.