Breath.
Air that trickles down your
throat and fills the
paper bags in your chest.
Breathe.
Inhale the dry liquid.
Fill the paper bags.
Can you hear them crackle,
crackle
crackle
In the cavity next to your heart?
I have paper bag lungs.
They are noisy as hell.
Like
an accordion they
pump, inflate, outflate,
inhale, exhale, repeat.
Like
an accordion they
accompany every movement
with soft protests of music.
Can you hear the music?
Wheezing
Wheezing
The deathly chords play
in the paper bags I call lungs.
The sound is my orchestra.
Paper
crackles and crumples,
Yet my instruments of life
are fragile and easy to tear.
Paper
fills my chest and drowns out
the beating of my heart with
tearing, ripping, struggling gasps.
I can feel the tears leaking air.
Gasping
Gasping
Gulping to fill the paper bags.
Trying to swallow more air than I can
because my paper bag lungs are torn.
Lungs.
You never realize how much
your cardboard body needs them.
Those invisible paper accordions.
Lungs.
They are supposed to help the heart
play the music of your life in the
symphony of your breathing
Breathing
Stopping
Screaming but your lungs are gone.
Crumpled into wads of tissue.
Oh, how dangerous our paper bags can be.
****************************************************************************************************************
~Dedicated to all my fellow asthmatics~
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ReplyDeleteWow, you're so freaking talented!!! I can only wish to be as half as talented as you are. Have a good day Haley. :)
ReplyDeleteAw you're so sweet. <3 But stuff and nonsense! You're super amazingly talented, darlin'!!
ReplyDelete