To save another

When you try once more to take a deep, cleansing breath.

And it no longer helps.

As if only dust remains.

I cannot gather myself — or perhaps I never was whole.

Landscapes of madness, fragments of depression, and a silent, insistent self-loathing.

"Just a little more..." I whisper to myself.

"Just a little more, and you will be happy.

Just a little more, and tomorrow will be better.

Just a little more, and you will be loved.

Just a little more, and everything will be alright.

Just a little more..."

But you play chess with yourself.

And what if one side of you always anticipates every move, always calls check, always delivers mate?

It’s absurdly ironic — because the other side wants nothing but freedom,

to move through life like the queen on the board.

Absurd. Probably because I am still alive.

What must be restrained to be freed?

What must be sacrificed?

It seems I gave everything for which I struggled, fought, with teeth and blood...

and what came of it?

Sacrificing my essence, I am left alone — with these thoughts only.

I feel I’ve made so many mistakes, carried so many phobias, restless thoughts.

And now, when I want to move, I tell myself:

"No, you are not worthy."

You are not worthy of a single drop of the story that was meant to be.

Not worthy of comfort, of touch.

Not worthy of anything, except that your soul quietly decays.

And do you know what hides behind the veil?

Why do I elevate others above myself?

Because if I cannot save myself, then, God, let me at least save someone else.