It feels hard to breathe —
as if my lungs have
forgotten the rhythm,
abandoned the will to expand.
Is this
death by broken heart?
Has my heart finally understood
what my head has screamed
again and again:
Let go
Maybe now—peace.
The deathless quiet of darkness.
I am ready.
I want to stop breathing.
I can’t keep breathing
for love that exists
only in dreams.
And there were so,
so many dreams.
Once vibrant,
once boisterous.
Now still,
now silent.
They fester around me —
rot clinging like shadows,
filling my lungs
with bitter perfume.
Perhaps one more breath
could bring light —
but no,
it would burn,
and I would rather
the darkness take me whole.
Hope is a curse —
a fiend,
a liar,
whispering futility.
Let me be a sacrifice.
Let me fall.
Let me fall into entropy,
into silence,
into darkness’ deathless depths.
It feels hard to breathe.
I will not fight it.