With each step I take up the staircase my breath grows heavier and so do my thoughts,
I imagine, just disappearing from right here on these steps and into the air - coming disintegrated into tiny pieces of matter like fairy dust trapped inside a balloon before,
it was burst.
With each little bite of food I take at lunch, my appetite is growing smaller (not hunger) and so is my self-esteem,
-- an addendum to my heavy thoughts
I imagine nay, think about the truth of this momment,
how among the 20 people on the table, all in the middle of an animated discussion about the school strike the junior students initiated, My opinions and ideas aren't even worth putting up on the table.
My desire to become fairy dust intensifies while trapped in the cage of impossibility.
I would give anything now,
Even the little hope I've left,
To be sucked into the air and not have to think anymore the heavy thoughts about my heavy weight.
To be sucked into the air with no bit of evidence to trace the sanctuary I make for myself after the disappearance.
But again,
Would you come see me living at death?
