It seems like
every day
is just the same.
Just the
same.
It feels like
every breath
heavy
in my chest
is just one more
feeble
attempt to
survive.
As my
lungs lurch
halfheartedly
towards
the finish line.
Don't get me
wrong.
I am in no hurry
but
some days
seem
longer than
others
and some
dreams
are worse
than most.
I cannot help but wonder
what
has kept me here
other than
a fear
of what lay
beyond.
A fear
that my family
would not
survive.
A fear
that
the efforts
were in vain
Or worse-
that they
were not.
And what of it then?
Will I waste away
in a fiery oblivion?
Or will I enter an
afterlife
beautifully clean
-myself washed
anew.
It seems like
every day
is just
plainly
the same
and when it is not
there is not
the capacity
within my chest
to hold me down
to keep my safe
to render my calm.
The shrill panic
paining me
deeply within my chest.
I am
afraid.
I suppose
that at the end of it
that is all that it is
I am
afraid.
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