Questions Without Answers

Everyone is dying, 
but I’m afraid I’m already dead. 
When was the last deep breath you took my friend?
One that was clean and free? 
One where your lips didn’t taste like alcohol and bad decisions? 
One where you knew that you would remember the feeling of freedom? 
I have learned to embrace my prison, 
but the walls are closing in
am I dying, am I dead? 
Am I simply afraid of living?

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