As long as I'm still breathing,
Alive and somewhat aware,
My heart will continue beating,
Although right now I'm gasping for air.

I can't meditate
because
focusing on
my breaths
reminds me
yours.

We lay there, calm
Talking about our wildest dreams
Chasing only the end of our conversation
Hoping never to catch it
With hands laced loosely
Our breathing returned to pace
Hearts steadied once again,
It was purely right
Everything was warm.

do you feel that?
the crescendo of emotion?
the crest of a wave
of inexplicable
something
that just drowns you?

do you feel it?
the weight of your own
existence?
this inexplicable urge
to lie down
and cry gently
for no reason at all?

do you feel
what i'm feeling?
an appreciation for life
whilst
hating being alive?
falling in love
with the universe
and out of love
with yourself?

do you feel that?
are you drowning in
existentialism?
does your chest
feel like it's
imploding?
are your lungs too big
for your rib cage?

do you feel it?
do you feel
what i'm feeling?
do you even feel
​​​​​​​at all?

We agreed
lets take some space
to breathe

But I can't breathe

So now what?

Her heart beat at each crossroad
and her breathing demanded her not to slow
so she dosed herself with the signs and senses
and let the blood flow to deep crevices


Decisions, not an answer she could steal
From Everything, her gift was not to feel
But empty, oh empty brought pain
It was narcotic, keeping so many sane


Everything, Compelling Everything;
thought you had a way for me
Right under your nose, I fill my senses to the brink;
making me feel just so beautifully

Everything, Oh Everything,
how could you possibly see?
I love the way you keep on laughing
at us for breathing our own fatality

I have never felt so sick in my life.

Eating feels like a necessary torture, and sleep feels like an unwanted evil.
Stuck in the same cycle of waking up feeling disgusting, and not wanting to sleep because the longer I stay awake, the better I feel.

But even I can't stay awake forever.

But I try, God knows I try.

So I still live in these infected clothes in this infected house and I can't help but wonder where the hell my conscience went.

I feel weak every single day, and I can only hope that this week...

Can change everything.

So if I'm crying out to the TV watchers and the music citizens. To my best friends... some of which who won't even talk to me...

Help me.

I can't wake up tomorrow thinking that this will not pass us by like the sickness it is.

Or was...

But if somebody else is crying out, I will drop this sickness like a ton of bricks and run to wherever they are.

I won't feel sick if somebody needs me there.

So I can put a lock on the medicine cabinet. Not because I won't be able to pry myself away from it, but because I will believe with the entirety of my whole body that I don't need anything.

My family is made up of some of the strongest people on this planet.

I will not be an exception by any means.

So maybe I can wake up as a medical zombie, filled with my own drop dead weight.

I am tired.

But not tired enough.

Unlike the first wave of sick.
This one cannot be cured by any amount of overdue sleep.

Why do you think I write into the abyss of every night?

Because there is nothing more for me to gain from saying that I am helpless.

So I won't...

Wake me up when it's all over.

And then I can live again.

the ocean is a
teardrop repeating itself,
lessons in breathing