The heat in the room made it hot,

and the sweat was sticking,

the precision of the clock on the wall

was ticking, ticking, ticking,

the salt from my sweat was burning

my cracked lips,

and the smell of cigarette smoke

lingered on my fingertips,

I had so many questions,

and the desire to kill myself grew high,

what did it mean to die,

having no breath,

I was thinking about mortality,

then of my own death,

as I made a fist,

a sharp razor at my wrist,

a ghost was calling,

then I started listening

to the sound of the spirits’ voices

rising and falling,

but there was no stalling,

death waited for me behind the door,

as I gently fell disgracefully to the floor.