Monday, November 26, 2018

Punctured Lung

There I was breathing in and out, 
Wondering what it even meant that I was alive. 
I sat and I listened to the slow beating of my heart--
an echoing drum bouncing off of my ribs. 
The rib that came from you, 
where you are, I don't know.

I wish we fit like we used to, 
before the puzzle got left out in the rain and all the pieces warped.
I wish this rib fit in your chest but its grown accustomed to my body. 
This echoing heart weeps for peace. 
My lungs get no rest. 

I cry out for understanding, but have questions that will linger for eternity

The rib shattered, 
my breathing slowed, 
I'm gasping for air. 

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