BreatheEven my own voice strikes me here. How can I breathe in this room? Breathe. I don’t wrap around the world; I don’t fit into this body. My soul wants out; it screams. How can I breathe? Breathe. If I no longer fit into these feelings, if I’ve tied my emotions to the very tip of my heart and carry them like a corpse, how am I supposed to take it in? Breathe. The walls are made of faces, the air is made of lead, and I am a stranger to my own voice. Breathe. Until there is nothing left to take. Breathe. Until you are finally gone.