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.