Sometimes, I still feel the bitterness in my lungs from all the times I couldn’t breathe the poisoned air around me, like an oxymoron in the way they covered my mouth and suffocated me to death to keep me from dying by breathing in.
I can’t remember if I died then but I woke up one day and the hands were gone and I took my first breath of air with shattered lungs and broken ribs and pale blue skin and I lived, I lived, like a corpse being slowly reanimated back to life.
But when it’s dark and cold and I’m lying awake at night underneath the blankets and the sun that can’t warm me because the cold has made a home in the tips of my fingers, I feel my damning heart beat too slowly to truly be alive, and I wonder if I ever came back or if I ever will come back.
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Can I Say Goodbye?
PoetryI'm always searching for something worth staying for but I can't seem to find that until then please don't mind me because I'm just a traveler passing through. When I'm not satisfied or happy I'll leave and find a new path, so just let me say goodby...
