I am choking, on the things left unsaid;
I am drowning, in their dread.

Smothered by the weight of my own tongue;
Coating my larynx, begging to be wrung.

My breath, stifled by unwritten letters draining into my esophagus;
Strangled words, using my body as their sarcophagus.

That one day, when I'm stronger, I'll find the courage to excavate.
Until then, I'll slowly ,**asphyxiate.

My thoughts stopped visiting my brain.
My imagination got lost somewhere in the infinity of my aloneness but I don't feel loneliness.
I'm a walking comatose and I feel so futile, so deterrent of myself.
But I guess these feelings are inevitable.
Maybe I'm too afraid to sit in a sail boat without a paddle and drift into the sea.
Maybe the circumspec of my cowardliness, has dived so deep into the depths of mind.
I don't feel alive, I don't feel alone,
I don't feel numb anymore.
I used to believe that pain was the God of life.
For if pain didn't exist, I wouldn't know what being alive meant.
Not even if it shrunk into a tiny razor blade and cut an entrance on scars or scabs on my body.
To rediscover past wounds and lessons learned.
Just to make me feel humility or little more human.
Maybe I'm just caught in between that moment before unconsciousness strikes.
When the lack of oxygen slowly expires.
As you gasp for air and grasp for something to breath life back into your soul again.