wisps of mist you call breath
but what is breath?
a mere sign of life?
how can something so robust be determined by insignificant fog?

and yet how true it is
that life dangles on a string
hangs on a thread
the fibres break
the seams tear

life lost is inevitable
but will yours be inconsequential?
take the reins
hold onto them fast

when your lungs hold no air
when your veins carry no blood
when your mind spring forth no thoughts
when your heart. is empty.
will it be too late?


R.I.P.
i will treasure them now