it’s not the beginning, but the end you see.
it sickens me, but there is always desire to cope,
a driving hope in each last choke for air.

don’t break. this heart can take a bleeding breath,
at risk: its fate.
another round, i’m further down and reaching for the way.

improving over time, it’s bitter and sublime, and it’s worth saving.

you. you are my love, and everything to me.
this life is desolate with no one who can see
what you mean to me, except you and me.