At the Crux

My poem about the elusive, captivating ethereal obsession with death and how it can seem to be a desired outcome yet also instills fear.

I'm drawn to you like a close breath.
Your essence leaves me tinged altogether with hope and despair.
Why do I long for you at times yet sit abash when you come even in an inkling, knocking at my door? I stand upon you at times, transposed, transfixed, and duly regress when there is any substance. A survivor, to partial chagrin, juxtaposed with sincere regret. Oasis credence given to mere mirage, unbeknownst to fate yet somehow incredulous to its cause. If it would somehow suit me, to defect from this quandary and its direction, a pendulum in incessant swing. Capitulation brings the same as one resolve is thwarted by its opposite. The eternal question, recounted endlessly through life's experiences.