Why am I writing within a fear
if I don't even know if I can
fight the will to survive-
respire and just keep
climbing
up more starry windows
[inside the light blinds,
how is it I can resist
all happiness,
but these stars must show
their final end to me?]
Each color received
becomes translated
in thousands of beats....
which one will match me?
which one will I breathe?
Soon, I will be traced
back to dust,
where no one
will know the legacy
I was distantly in reach
of.
