I hear you breathing.

Labored, tired, aching.

I see you wanting.

Freedom, peace, silence.

I taste your fear.

Bitter, cloying, sharp.

Your pulse is sharp,

Like knives in your chest when breathing.

Your voice is silenced by fear.

You’re afraid to say why you’re aching.

You’re caged in self-imposed silence.

Gripping the bars in wanting.

You lie awake in wanting.

The blade of terror against your neck is sharp.

Sharp as the noise that fills the silence.

The noise that drowns your breathing.

The breathing that can’t stop the aching.

The aching that fuels your fear.

You’re trapped in your fear.

Screaming for the freedom you’re always wanting.

Freedom from the numbness that follows the aching.

Your shame like a needle, sharp.

You’re hyperventilating,

trying to remember your breathing.

Searching for a hideout with blessed silence.

But I will follow you into the silence.

I will justify your fear.

I will weigh heavy of on your breathing.

I will leave you in wanting.

My presence will always be sharp.

I will leave you tired and aching.

You will grow used to the aching.

You will forget about the silence.

You will acknowledge that I am sharp.

You will standardize the fear.

You will ignore the wanting.

And living with me,

will be as easy as breathing.