Terminal

You are breathing,
as the weed blooms inside.
Your heart keeps beating,
as the treatment is applied.

Cutting the roots is no option,
its dark veins can’t be killed.

You can only remain cautious,

as your body tries to rebuild.

Perhaps you’re simply waiting,
for wings to burst on your back.
While the weed is dominating,
while it paints your skin lilac.

Why do I always grab the knife,
while you dread the thin flat line?
You’re fighting so hard for your life,

and all I do is try to end mine.

You are breathing,
but not for much longer.
Your heart is beating,
but the weed is growing stronger.

And so, every sunrise is a blessing,
though we may label it dutiful.
For us, it is seen as depressing,
but for you, life is beautiful.