"I do not want to live,
nor want to die."
My 'what ifs' haven't been answered,
I wonder if another year
would be any different.
A fresh breath of oxygen,
yet running in a circles.
How am I supposed to live,
to struggle,
to love,
when all I know is,
I am getting closer to death.
It seems like wishes came flooding in,
even if the house is crumbling.
At least,
the earth still revolves,
the sun still rises,
the moon still shines,
the skies haven't changed,
not quite there yet.
My love,
The skies are blue,
and so am i.
khayr.q
YOU ARE READING
ownness
Poetry: the quality or state of belonging to oneself. trigger warning: simply, a person that finds comfort in their own words.
