because it echoes inside of my head
and i stare at a blank screen waiting
for the grace of God to light everything up
to light me up
to follow my parents footsteps and pretend im not in
desperate need of a deep breath
we are putting on a show and i am the star of their exasperated
"just get through it, alright?"

i know its over
because it has slowed to this gradual
remedial stop
after so much time and fake kinetic energy
and all i am left to do
is ponder the imaginary hypocrisy of something real
that is unable to be created
but destroyed in an instant
that manages to take hours
like my own personal paradox
my own personal big bang
i starve while watching everyone eat full meals

but, i suppose, my pauses cause bitterness and i know its over
because it took you this infinite instant to form
"i don't care anymore"
and you watched the expressions dance across my blank face
like you were my very own god
and in those words
that instant
that feeling
that remedial stop
you were telling me
"you don't need a deep breath.
you need an oxygen mask."

love is your recovery room
it is not the accident that puts you there
it doesn't matter how many times
i push my pencil into paper
and pass metaphors off as my own

i know its over
because i know you well enough
to know what it looks like
when color drains from your face
when your eyes gloss over like you've never said my name before
you are worse than a corpse
alive and breathing while i stay hooked into an IV with your words pushing through my bloodstream

i can write and write and write
about how much i know
how well i can pretend
how many big breaths i need

but it will not make it less over
it will not change the fact that
while i sit in the middle of my own big bang
while i choke on this instant
i use my last words
to apologize for making so much noise
i use my last words
to ask if you're breathing alright