my breath

will be as real as ever.

when existance is the realest

truest

illusion,

the most pure lie you will ever encounter

and when we just breath the same air as everyone else

and die just to become part

of the rest of this unblinking world

what is your excuse for breathing?

when so few people can confirm my existance,

and just about no one could tell them who I really am

really

what is this breath

that keeps the muscle beating?

you will wait your whole life only to always realize that they made you

all wrong

that never can you become

anything more.

(than a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy)

my breath remains a bad imitation

coming out of a lung

that serves no other purpose

than keeping me

alive.

living when you could be dying

dying when you could be living.

(because one is not complete without the other)