The available level of oxygen left in these debilitated lungs of mine is at .01% and I'm turning absolutely cerulean.

Regardless, I'm feigning things are fine.

My wizened lips are starting to quiver. They're growing numb from being elongated into a desperate smile.

I'm saying I'm fine when really I'm gradually starting to notice lights in front of my eyes and the world seems to be on a broken elevator that goes up and down much too quickly and my legs and arms have perceivably left the rest of my body to the forces of gravity.

But really, I'm fine.