The Broken Records

To breathe or not to breathe.

I'd like to do it... but is there ever a good enough reason? Will I be able to leave the trademark when I do? How will I know if I'm truly appreciated, but in the end would it matter? I wonder what my friends would think, if my creator would finally take me seriously, if she'd even care. I think about the graceful amazement of expression, stillness yet free. I wonder if love would set me free, if dying for someone would be better than dying for no one, but in this generation, it's all the same. I'll forever be alone anyways. Why let a mere mortal control the passion of my being, the drive of my survival?

Sooner or later it all won't matter.

Everyone forgets who a person use to be. They forget the feeling, the touch, the craving for another. It fades like Christmas lights, becomes lost like an ant at sea. I'm afraid, I'm afraid that it's not enough, I'm afraid that this rarity of a secret potion can not cure my illness, can not heal my disease, can not remove this curse. Shall I be happy with it or loath, suffer, forever breathe in sulfur while my demons conquer me.

I'm being consumed with evens yet I am awaiting the odds. I am captured by spirit yet free by design. My nature is to haunt the forest openly, bravely, devouring what ever fire prevents my boundary, swallowing the glory of oceans flood, hold on to the memory like crystals.

Eat me into an oblivion.