And the memory chokes me—
(like your hands once did)
but my neck is cold, ice cold
and its hands are warm.
I am sorry,
I have learnt
to breathe breathlessly.
I have begun to
find comfort in the
lack of oxygen,
and the ache
of pressure on my windpipe.
God, it is painful.
God, it is lovely.
(I never wanted this)
Please do not try to
remove its hands from my
tender, wanting throat.
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 2:50 PM UTC
And the memory chokes me—
(like your hands once did)
but my neck is cold, ice cold
and its hands are warm.
I am sorry,
I have learnt
to breathe breathlessly.
I have begun to
find comfort in the
lack of oxygen,
and the ache
of pressure on my windpipe.
God, it is painful.
God, it is lovely.
(I never wanted this)
Please do not try to
remove its hands from my
tender, wanting throat.