Drain Me

I thought about drinking the end,

letting it burn its way through the ache,

turning pain into silence.

But somewhere between thought and act,

a voice whispered—not yet.

A trembling sound, small but alive,

saying maybe there’s still a sunrise

I haven’t seen.

I get so tired of that voice—

the voice of reason,

always telling me there’s more to live for,

a glimmer of hope I don’t want to think about.

The world feels heavy,

pressing against my ribs,

reminding me I’m still here.

And I am—

shaking, breaking,

breathing anyway.

I don’t want to die.

I just want the pain to stop

before it swallows me whole.