I am still breathing
I have never been quite sure if I am worth the oxygen I steal from this Earth,
But somehow I persist
I live 
I feel 
God, I feel too much. 
Is it still a strength if it tears me apart?
For how much longer can my scarred heart sustain this torture? 
For how much longer can I strain against the chains that decorate my body?
I am breathing, but not free
Am I really living if I am not free?
Am I really living if my body is marred by my shackles? 
Is the blood that decorates my body really mine, or that of my captors?
Am I really living if I am trapped?
Am I living if my worth depends on someone else? 
Am I living if I find comfort in this god-forsaken prison?
Perhaps I am between dead and alive. 
My blood runs red, and my lungs fill with air,
But I do not live for myself 
I live for another’s desires
Therefore, I can never be truly alive.