Eight Minutes
I hope you have eight minutes for me.
I typed the message,
but never pressed send.
Scrolling through my phone,
reading thoughts that shook me
faster than I expected.
Yesterday, things were okay.
I was a free bird.
Today I sit at home in a wheelchair,
feeling like everything is done.
It feels heavy to wake up.
Hard to speak,
so I choose silence instead.
Breathing feels difficult.
Walking feels like I may fall.
Slowly, quietly,
I realized I wasn’t well
and I needed help.
Time kept running.
I got stuck somewhere
and ended up hurt.
So I typed again,
asking for help,
asking for eight minutes.
No one responded.
Finally I wrote:
“I need blood.
I’m diagnosed with worries
and too many thoughts.”
I hope you will respond.
I hope you will reach out.
I hope you will rescue me.
I hope you are there
for my last eight minutes.
- Vishwanath

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