ella 1d

Let me stand at a high cliff
With the ocean 100 feet below me
The wind a little too harshly blowing my hair back
Feeling my dress talk to the wind
Letting my arms move freely
As I jump into the air
And scream out with adrenaline
Watching the birds fly around near me
Let me feel like a fairy as I dance around near 50 feet.
Once I hit the water
I want to breathe it in.
Bubbles form and it's almost as if music faded
And I slowly sink down to the bottom of the sea
My hair casts down to the sand, moving swiftly
As I look up to see the sun beaming through liquid.
I reach up for air
But my lungs are filled with water
I wanted this to last.
I want to breathe in this phase

Where goldfish's  in
                   a bowl of air

Forgetting to breath...

Neglecting the beauty we see
           memories are fickle things

We swim in circles, expecting to
             noticed, but all we need to do
is realize the bowl isn't real....

there will be dozens
of people
who will take your
breath away
but the one
who reminds you
to breathe
is the one you
should keep
~c.p

C.P

I can't breathe.
What a feeling.
The taste of blood in my mouth,
Sutures inside my heart
Pulling me into the sky
Like the final smoke of dying embers
I watch the end from behind a glass screen
Screaming at the top of my lungs
My throat is red and tight
Tears cling to me in waves
And I still
Can't
Breathe.

It's not anxiety, no
I've gone through that
Panic, too...
This is an attack of a different kind
A sickness of the mind and heart
That invades my system in viral storms
Lightning bolts
Of anguish and excruciating thunder...
There is no pain like this...
I'm just stuck
Until you deem me worthy enough to fight for.


But I only have so much oxygen left...


Only so much time, before...

Well...
You know.

I'm gone.

Feedback is always welcome.
Ira Desmond Nov 3

As the day
slumps on

and the afternoon
sun

is at last
harpooned

and reeled
toward

the horizon,
I,

sitting in my cubicle,
feel

my neck begin
to

list windward,
like

a sinking
sailboat,

its sheets
torn,

naked mast
shuddering,

its heedless final heading
being

that white fog
bank

that rolls over
the

coastal range
to

my west out
the

third floor
window.

The fog
cranes

its neck
ever

so slightly
upward

to meet my
gaze,

like a timid
dog

just pulled
awake

after a short, fitful
nap.

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