I've Seen People Live

A short poem written in the midst of death and sorrow.

At what point does it become not enough?
When does breathing, blinking, hearing
feeling, seeing, touching become dissatisfactory?
Whether you walk on one leg or two
see with both eyes or neither
Why would you willingly
give up something so graciously granted
to you specifically?

In a genuine curious fashion
I want to know when
the exact moment
when the human brain decides
that there is no point
hopeless
hopeless
die
die
alone.

Why?
Tell me.
Help me understand.
Please.

Why?
I love you.
Why isn't that enough?