Suffocation
as long as you breathe
i won't be able to
Poems on the topic: breath
Poems on the topic “breath” on Poets.by.
Inamorato
i don't care if the whole world considers me a villain
they could all die and i wouldn't blink
but my darling, when it's you
my heart shatters and the broken shards pierce my
lungs with each breath
Sorry Officer
he pulled me over
because my hands shook so bad i swerved
left and right
drunk
on my panic attack
his badge flashed
like that earring He wore
the night He scarred my soul
the officer touched my hand to pull me out of it
to bring me back to reality
ma'am, are you okay? i'm here. take deep breaths.
i screamed so hard
other cars pulled over to help
because every hand feels the same
no matter their intentions
Toxic
hair streaked with daggers
and iron filling her lungs
each breath a shot of poison
that makes me want to run
but running makes it worse
she gets off on the fighting back
so i have to stay completely still and be willing
to ache and burn and die
until the opportunity comes that i can finally hide
Stupid, Stupid
my eyes must be rose-colored
for thinking you stopped,
thinking it was safe to breathe,
safe to live again.
no matter how long it lasts,
the peace always ends.
UNEASY BREATHS (a translation)
Silence the ringing! quieter! quieter! I can't hear myself!
It's squeezing and clutching! Tugging and hurting!
I can't breathe, I-I can't. Breathe!
the reaper is waiting,
intently staring,
relishing.
Yet, I linger.
the enemy, do you see it? Right there!
can you see it? I gotta escape
the toxicity, it's infesting my mind,
I'm not okay.
crimson creeping up,
sweat dripping down,
I'm quivering,
I'm perishing,
Stuttering, "why is the bed shaking so wildly??"
breathe.
Just when you think,
life couldn't get any worse,
you try to end it.
Just to be forced to breathe again.
Dead Bodies
Depression.
Something so strong
But yet so weak at the same time.
It weighs you down.
It holds you back.
It feels...
It feels like a dead body.
Like carrying a dead body
On your shoulders
Everyday.
It occupies your time
You don't want to eat
You can't sleep
Hard to breath.
Maybe you're the dead body.
Maybe you're
* * *
lungs
felt
nicely
mitred
From an Undelivered Birthday Card
The way with June is this:
it ends
(and first it's my sister's birthday)
then it ends
Today in the smell of
elderberry blossoms
today in the colour of
rice crispies on a steel spoon of milk
today in the hand of
putty & windowglass of
getting confused/fingers/putty oil/ not really finding/
a way/looks bad/keeps falling out/the depth/of the
impossibility/thickness/frush/fruss/infinite heartless
boredom/shit/frustration
of desire to know/therefore control
Or Awhile
Phone Call
though the mocking wire
slew the greenness of your voice
The vibrant plastic
struck my ear crying
and if only this clay machine
owned me
Next the actual mouth of you
I'd have fled in your breath
frail as dandelion.
* * *
I'm still breathing
after everything
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