#57

March 28, 2011 § Leave a comment

Your exhales curve around your lips in wrinkles
And settle in your graying hair,
The wiry drips of wasting decades
Limp and hanging there
Your lungs are full of dance recitals and wedding marches
that you risk with every flicker
Your world clouded by unfiltered addiction
Fading as the air grows thicker
And if life is measured by breaths taken away
Then yes, you’re in the lead
But it’s hard to hold your ground
When you can barely breath
And sure there’s tubes and pumps
and chemotherapy
But they’re the last leaves clinging in stubbornness
To the limbs of a snowy tree
They’re just preserving death
and at the end of that stick you hold
You’ll find it’s ultimate gift to you
That its final breath is cold.

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You are currently reading #57 at Authored Angioplasty.

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