I am Alive

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I thought I drank my last breath.

Thought I dripped my last drop.

Blood all lost, scattered to the winds.

Screams muted by hoarse hours of noise.

I did all I could.

Yet, I cannot,

do less.

Where is the inflection point?

Where do I turn?

I thought the undead existed.

I thought I saw them return,

but I am not dead,

not yet.

Even though all my breath has ceased,

Oh my eyes still see.

Why is it so beautiful?

Why does the spring bloom,

absent of all I thought was light?

Why is it, inside and locked,

that I can still live, thrive?

With no one to wake for,

no reason for my efforts,

why have I not died,

and returned,

to suck the marrow of others' bones?

Why do I linger, alive?

Why do I still hear the birds sing?

I always think I'm lost,

but I'm still here.

I don't know why,

despite all the futility,

despite all the wreck,

why tears still feel cold,

and breaths warm?

Oh, it was silly of me to mistake,

being keen for being mute.

I am not dead.

I am not a vampire.

I am just,

and nothing else, but,

here, uneasy,

but alive.

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