I think my lungs are giving up

In
Out
In
Out

They’re tired.
I am tired.

I think I’m giving up.

I hate loud noises.
I really appreciate when it’s quiet.

Ever since the asylum,
I can’t stand loud noises,
especially if they’re sudden.

Gets me scared,
sad,
and then mad.

When it’s quiet,
I can think clearly.
I can do things better.
I can be more relaxed.

It’s ironic.
I feel like most people would say
I’m a loud person,
and I’ll give them that.
I can be loud sometimes,
when I’m excited.

But I still love the quiet.
I like being able to think.
When it’s too loud,
I feel like I’m losing it.

I’ve been listening to some quieter music.
Mitski is really good.

They say I have a rock voice,
but I’d rather whisper-sing instead.
Maybe that’s what I’ll do.

I love the quiet.
It’s never the perfect amount, though.

You caught me with your eyes
And trapped me with your arms.
I was intoxicated by your warmth,
Addicted to your smile.

I saw your pictures, and they sent me spiraling.
My mind is stuck in a loop of you...

I lost my rhyme,
My capacity to see rhythm,
Because all the art in the world pales in contrast to you.
All the sounds are dull in the background of your voice.

I'm going crazy in poems,
Depressed in tales,
Aching in dreams,
And anemic in art.

Never try to prove
your love
by opening
your legs.

You read my poetry,
then turned away,  
as if the words
had nothing to say.  
Each line was a pulse,
it was a part of me,  
yet you drift on past,
too blind to see  
that my verses ache,
hoping to be heard,  
yet silence lingers,
louder than each word.  
The ink may fade,
but my feelings remain,  
as I laid my heart bare,
was it all in vain?

©️Lizzie Bevis