“I find it hard to breathe in this world knowing that I am from another. Time and time again, my thoughts born from sin, yet I’ve never had any other.”
I’m running low on oxygen, but never on words. My breathing slows. Am I preserving or struggling? If I can find the words to explain where I am maybe someone can find me. Maybe they can find the time to let me down. Maybe I should leave humans to waste. To fill the ground and leave before they even fell in love with the chase. I will lead you with my words, but the rest is up to you. My happiness manifests in knowing my last deep breath leaves one less left for you.
