My Heartbeat

I take another short breath, preparing for my death sentence. My fingers grasp the door, anxious, cold, and black. Through the glass window I see eyes that match They know I don't belong here. I'm as irregular as my heartbeat. I try to ignore the obstacles these eyes provide me and take one last deep breath; preparing myself for what's ahead. I hold it in. I tried and tried but I remained still for some reason. Do I not want to fight for my own rights? Sigh. In the end I couldn't do it. I backed away from the privileged area; some smiled at my self-defeat. My hand had stopped shaking and my heart stopped aching. Maybe I was wrong I'm neither free nor strong.