I read the last text he sent me

waiting

waiting

for a reply.

selfishly hoping he survives

he tells me-

tells-

me.

tells me

about the scars being reopened.

blood,

bruises.

he tells me-

about how he wishes he weren't living.

he tells me-

about how he can't live much longer.

He tells me-

about how his world crashes around him.

He tells me-

about the splinters of this universe turning to dust

He tells me-

about how the dust fills the lungs that live for him.

I reply in my head:

but that's not living.

---------------------------

this is a slightly different tone than the other poems on here so far, with the lowercase and repetition. i think that a lot of people were in this situation from the pandemic. good luck yall

and sorry if none you can't relate so this means nothing to you lol

On a random note, thank you so much to everyone who added this to their reading lists and voted and stuff!! I really appreciate it :)