Poetic Relapse.

Air.

And these nightmares haunt my days as well.. I pray for sleep but no wishes are granted, feet too firmly planted to bad thoughts and I can't seem to find a way out of this maze. I hope that soon enough I find sweet release in arms around my waist and a voice to lull me to sleep without nightmares that haunt my days as well...

I pray for this sweet release of a voice calling my name in a tone I don't recognize because I fear that I won't have enough air to scream the wrong name when your hands are on my body and your lips are on mine and my heart is racing like a wild fire and I don't have enough air because each breath feels like a sword in my brain that will not remove itself.

Your touch is too firmly planted into my skull like my feet on the ground but my neck has stretched itself among the clouds just so I don't have to look at you anymore. Your breath is still hot on my face and your touch, still tight on my hips and I have no air.

I have no air to call for a hand in recovery when your arms don't feel like your arms and they feel like his. When your lips feel like his and your hand in mine feels like his fingers on my skin and my air is slowly being sucked out of each punctured lung, there are no hands to hold my broken bones as I collapse into myself.

We do not suffer by accident.