It\'s hard to breathe most days.
Hard to tell if it is the mold, dust or depression.
To wish all of this was a dream would be a dream.
As reality closes in, I think, I should have continued the lie.
What we give in return just to die.
Aviaries brim with gold and green.
Far from the eye waiting to be seen.
Heavens await breaking the dream.
Lessons broke the fragile mind it seems.
~I.S.~