Posterchild

My lungs won't work. they'll kill me soon, and mine is the face of euthanasia. My last year's changed everything, I take it back and long for what I've lost. But my last year's been all the same: no one will help, no gods to heal, now this is my fate. My lungs won't work, they'll kill me soon. It's too late, I'm too sick. I'll leave with you these words: Find what your soul can most deeply love and give yourself to it.