Without
I am just here.
Somewhere between living and
death.
Sitting next to
is all I need
to feel that
coursing crimson in me
the ballooning of my lungs
body heat.
The thought
of gone.
Makes the crimson gets iced
the balloons deflate.
All I see is
a funeral.
Holding hands
soar throat
wet
cold
scared.
Everything escapes.

Suddenly

the ballooning is back
crimson coursing
tears rushing
body heat on my hand.
Words "I'll never leave"
come in my head.

"That isn't true"
Someday
the're will be
emptiness
and a coffin.