“When breath becomes air,

And when life grasps on that

Never-ending rope. A rope that in real time is

F R A C T U R I N G.

Every little fibre untangling and fading.

Disappearing, evanescing.”

He feels like the world is crashing him. Suffocating, these crowds, the pressure piling up to just demolish his soul. He loses that one thing that kept him tethered to the ground, to his home, and to this universe. Is he undone? Is he free? Or was he taught to never cry, to never scream, to never sob, or to wail?

Maybe the well that is his body bursted open bleeding all the pain.

And maybe, just maybe his soul was liberated.

I want to feel something.

Even the basic happiness, the joy of drinking hot chocolate.

I want to cry meaningful tears.

I don’t want to be a dam that just lets water out.

I want to hate someone.

I want to love someone.

I want to miss someone.

I want to want someone.

I just want to feel.

Not that poison in my heart,

Not that feeling of drowning in my own tears,

Not that feeling of choking in my own breath,

Not all that black.

All I see,

All I feel,

All I drink,

All I sleep on,

is that black poison.

My shield, my mask, my soul, my hate, my joy, my pain

is just that

empty

E N D L E S S

blackness.

And so we spiral on and on and on,

tightening like a screw we hold our breath

as life tumbles loose from a

broken, tapering

gasp. We are

numb with loove and paralyzed with hope

as we watch waning vigor dim from

lungs pumped full of air,

brimming with the feistness of life;

just inflated with despair.

Bittersweet crazed cries

tear, rip, right through us, acorss us,

bruise us, butcher us, mangle us—until

we crumble, until

barbed knots of wails and wallows

coil and cleave into

tattered hearts and ribboned souls.

Oh, how we struggle to remember a time when life was as sweet as life was yesterday.

Flakes upon his nose,

As soft as cotton.

He recalls the sight of his luxurious red velvet rose.

But lonely with a cup of coffee and some scones,

He writes in his book with muse.

But

No more faith in miracles.

Heart broke,

Choked by her love;

The ability to feel became so numb,

So difficult.

The crime of losing a soul,

But must he save himself from his own crippling core?

Or could he just vanish?

Tears fell as the memories of the past,

Flew away at last.

Hurt, enlightening, hatred, love, giref, joy, depression.

These last.

While the s c o n e s,

The miniature c o t t a g e,

And l i f e

Wither away.