The sanctity of breath

 

Breathing is easy...

 

In out. In out. In. In. In.

 

So why then

am I choking up

just trying to think?

Why are my tears

blocked up like a clogged drain?

And why is the air tasting

of pain and despair?

Steely ice teasing me, slivers

getting caught at the top of my throat,

like someone has placed

a barrier to stop the emotions

before they can develop.

 

And when the pain grips me,

I sit in the darkness, the sanctity

of the story, the sanctuary of movies.

Awaiting the glow

of a cinema screen to

take me away to a world

anywhere but the

one I’m contained within,

where the walls feel

like they are closing

and my mind is full of static snow.

 

Because

to sit with this pain

eating away at me,

to listen as it chews

through my skin like popcorn

from a bucket of misery,

leaves me clenched and weakening,

as my muscles tighten

and my breathing

leaves me flailing.

 

In. In.In.In.In

 

And I bail.

Like a sinking ship

I fill my bucket

with emotions

And throw them

over the sides,

trying to stay afloat.

Trying not to lose sight

of the island to which I sail.

 

But I fail. And I fall.

 

Days like

this I wish

I could talk to

you. What words

would you speak?

Would they show me

that all will be okay, or that

the weather may get more stormy?

Could they be a soothing balm

to the grazed feeling in my heart?

And would they lift me up

and dust me off

for the journey to follow...

 

And though still hollow I breathe out.