The desperation of breath is sharp.

It’s a knife stabbing the fleshy parts of me from the inside.

It hurts.

Breathing in, I ache. Breathing out, I bleed.

Longing for a hand to hold, I navigate my loneliness.

The weight of Life may crush me, and there is no one to hear me scream.

My breath is a desperate grip on the minimum of living. Its sharpness, painful and bloody, is what I focus on to make it through the day.