drafts for breathing

Between the state of wake and sleep you bob amongst my thoughts.

Flashes of my day carried by the waves.
Things left undone, unsaid, lap against my temples, but
you
are surrounding me.

A message in a bottle floats just beyond my reach.
It grows legs, gills, and rows itself away.

My reflection in water is staring back at me. It waves and ripples. It's you, smiling, you're everywhere, encapsulating the sea.

I'm drowning. Not in your eyes — two orbs of warmth; winking suns.
But in this water
I cannot drink fast enough.

I leak filling this vessel. Every single pore.
Your scent.
Invading.
There's nowhere left to go.

Oxygen is pushed aside.
My lungs cannot believe
what it is I'm doing
what you're doing to me.

This.
It's overwhelming.

I can no longer breathe.



***



That blonde joke. You know. The one where she dies at the hairdressers. I always laughed at that one. I mean how ridiculous having to be told when to breathe, right? I guess that was the point though. Ridiculous, I mean.

I wouldn't mind right now though. It's driving me insane. Waking up just as I doze off, frightened I cannot breathe.

I'm not breathing well right now. It's nothing serious, mind you. Just a cold that's driving me insane. Nose slugs having stubbornly turned in for the night as if Medusa had turned them to stone. The congestion is worse than peak hour... in China. Did you hear about the traffic jam that lasted for nine days? Makes sense though if you think about it since 九 means longlasting. Just like this agony.