No Breath For Salvation

There is no voice left to bargain with, no air in the lungs to even fashion a plea for salvation. Not that you would ask. I can't even ask for help anymore. The words got tired. The pleading got old. I know exactly what the answer is before the question leaves my mouth, so why waste the breath on salvation? How do you ask for help when the thing that's killing you is being celebrated as the most gorgeous version of yourself? The more it hurts, the more beautiful it looks to everyone else. A beautiful ruin receives far more tenderness than a desperate person ever will. Tell me I’m beautiful Since I have no voice to tell you what it cost. Mizuyōkaii, 2026 Dimensions: 5376x7680