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One Too Many Breaths
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Soul Poetry In,out...
In,out...
Of life, I breathe-
the steady air,
stagnant, though it may be.
(Deeply, filling, to dizzying state.
Sustaining a life, no matter its fate.)
Lung-filled remorse-
I grieve for one
still alive.
Each one a reminder
that by yet,
remaining, I exist.
(Deeply, filling, to dizzying state.
Sustaining a life, no matter its fate.)
But oh, such an existance-
which only serves
my desire
of each new intake
to be my very last
exhale...
