7 « Seven »

Chest heaved as they breath in the air,

Still alive, healthy and sad.

Perfectly fine in physical,

Hence the mental damaged and beaten up.

Just how heavy this heart is right now,

Slowly swell up the stress and make the pains,

Questioning this self-worth again and again.

'Why am I alive?'

Even they know the answer,

but there nothing in my palms anymore,

They don't hold on anything,

it's nothing.

Empty just like this own self heart.

Beating like any normal human being,

Pained by the stress and anxiousness,

Suffocated by the upcoming future.

Both of these hands tightened around the small neck.

"Please die,"

In a saddest plead to their self,

It's choked their self,

Pains or is it relieves?

The sensation of cutting off air, and holding oneself to death.

But the hands loosened.

Nothing happened.

Just lingering stings of pain,

Still alive and breathing.

They close their eyes,

Sleep as the only escape.