I feel like the heat will never end.
That my skin will continue to burn until the day of my death.
That my brain will continue to set itself on fire everyday.
That my back will scream at my scorching lungs for not breathing in enough oxygen because they just simply don't want to any more.
I purposely don't breathe in the relief in hopes that maybe my lungs will throw in the towel and collapse in on themselves.
Do I need to break a rib to puncture so I can stop breathing?
Do I need to immerse myself in burning water and hold my breath like a kid not getting what they want?
In a way I'm not.
And I hold my breath,
Knowing I'll get it if I continue on throwing this temper tantrum and puffing my cheeks.
YOU ARE READING
The Swallows and the Sunsets
PoetryI tend to find meanings in things not intended to have one.
