They Can't Make me

This is a work in progress.
I don't know how to get it out yet,
but as long as it's in there
it's bound to come out
eventually.
It's what I fear,
but it won't stay put
nor go away,
the only place left,
the atmosphere we both breathe
it'll destroy me,
end the world existing between
the two that don't belong.
But it won't stay in,
and it won't go out,
any other way
won't work.
The end must come,
the thread that lies,
a spider's weaving cutting off
the souls and circulation,
the breathing pulse
of nothingness.
It's swarming,
breathing,
heavy air singeing the corners
of the emptiness.
Confusion still ruling
the way of the heart,
defeating the mind,
the soul,
and will.
But it will come out,
no doubt,
no stop.
It'll destroy the depth
of life
and death,
but it's coming out.
I'm coming in.