#and thats on panic attacks

With a weight on my chest I used to carry on, ‘til thou cradled me in, nursed me back to health, breathed in the stead of my broken lungs. And like eternity is nothing but a short while, I forgot about my earthly flaws and the sense of suffocation; breathing was no longer my concern, the burdens not mine to carry. I buried them in my memories – “If only, if only.”

Thy light gave away in time and left me rotting in but a shadow. Maggots and worms infested my lungs again, a steady weight settled back in its place. Just as all nights end with a breaking dawn, the sun must sink to the far west in its time, to leave behind the mourning mortals with their longing for the light. “If only, if only.”

With my light inevitably stolen, I now bleed the gold thou poured in me. Spill out the silver; the bronze and copper, too. Each too heavy for me to hold in this shell bursting at the seams. Light slips through the sorrow, takes blight like sand on my palm, leaves me with no air in my folding lungs, pushes down on mine own chest.

If only, if only.