Today I watched your lungs turn inside out against themselves, the air unsure of where to go so it just hovered in that middle space between coughs, when you thought you'd caught your breath but your voice hitched when you tried to talk and you started choking again,
I saw that today, your eyes watering as you struggled to remind your body how to sustain itself, you cussed between fits and asked, "isn't this supposed to happen on its own," you wheezed, "shouldn't something so instinctual be easier than this?"
You didn't sound like you wanted an answer so I kept my mouth shut, brought you a glass of water.