Cirmuļa atklāsmes -

every breath is a torture.
this night I should disappear.
but in vain do I look forward to the end,
my hope is wasted.
my breath is never through.
for life goes on,
and I do, too.
still
and again.
this time I cannot be wrong.
there will be no cancellation
with every trip, bruise, scar,
every organ lost,
I'm only more sure -
I never wanted anything more.
so why the desperation?