you fight the air
for breathing room.
constantly suffering
from a constant state of suffocation
- and always reminding me about it.
My two lungs gasp
too much, not enough
air
for you to fight;
you fight me.
but I am not your enemy!
I’m merely breathing.
are my lips too close?
can you smell,
with every exhale,
my dying?
would you mouth-to-mouth
steal me breathes?
or would you thread my lips for death?
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