I Live.

In air, smoky and thick, I breathe

a sigh of relief, relieved to be free.

All the years that have passed,

lived dwelt on the past

Have passed; gone to their death.

With a heart as heavy as my body does feel,

I remember it vaguely, as though nothing was real-

In the day, nothing but a distant memory;

At night, a dream that haunts me.

Because the past does still exist.

A fire was lit, so bright and so warm,

took shape as a child, so gentle in form;

but the perils of life, and life's cruel way

made sure that the fire lasted not past the day.

And the night's were cold.

I began to wish a fate unforgiving.

My dreams, suddenly, no longer worth wishing.

A heaviness, a blackness, a fog had descended;

the fire was out, and my will, it had ended.

Living was no more than a chore.

To glide through life without a care

is to many a wish, for they were not there.

When the nights were dark and my will had waned

and I cared no longer to see sunlight again.

Tomorrow was decades away.

The sunlight came, but I was not grateful;

The morning, noon, night, they were too painful,

scarred is the pale skin which houses my soul,

and I feel that in years I shall still not be whole.

But I live.