Every footstep that I take seems to crumble the ground beneath me. My footing wavers. I sway and there is nothing to which I can hold on to.

Every breath that I take reminds me that the air I breathe is poisonous. It chokes me and blurs my vision.

Every heartbeat is a warning that it cannot go on much longer.

Every night my empty bed rubs my loneliness to my face. 

I crawl on this wide world without balance, without breath, without love towards my death that is somewhere out there.

Whitman was right.

Someone has “stopped somewhere waiting” for me.

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