No longer whirlwind,
 in the eye of the storm
My mind is the warzone, cognition tears into irrationality,  consumerism designed to make me happy
There are no demons here. It is calm,
 This is the most dangerous part,
a cold standoff
Silent acceptance that the end is coming,
That the three page note you have written on a laptop you should have never bought
Is poetic justice,
the recognition of a struggle you have lost
And I,
can't even seem to get the words right
so worried about disappointing anyone,
So worried about showing weakness, for needing something,
digging myself in deeper for those who never cared enough to slow down for me. This isn't a poem.
This isn't clarity, I do not wish to live, I
I do not wish to die.
I do not wish
for the fear that the longing
will consume the little light I have left to give.