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.