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Amanda Stoddard Mar 2018
I'm coughing up my lungs again,
smoking cigarettes I never had any intention of starting.
This isolation becomes inhalation
but it seems I cannot breath anymore.

Constantly searching for satisfaction I will never find
because it is found inside of things
I do not trust myself enough to keep
somehow I ruin everything.

Shallow tendencies weighing heavy inside of me
I guess I prefer semblance over substance.
So here I go again, locked inside an idea
rather than an entity.

I don't trust myself with sincerity-
too wrapped up inside attention
to be able to hold on to anything.

Carrying love would be too much.
I would crush the weight of it in my palms-
ash it like one of my cigarettes.

It would disappear every time I inhale.
It would disappear every time anyone got too close.

So I do not let them,
I tremble inside walls
and long hours
and become nothing
because that is what is expected of me.

Maybe I will gain the courage
by seeking someone that doesn't scare me so much.
Or maybe I just like the rush.

Stuck in an endless cycle of wanting love
and being scared of what it does to me.

So I **** down another cigarette
knowing this smell will stay with me.

Knowing this is as close to commitment as I will ever get.
I don't smoke cigarettes but I wanted to do a narrative poem- so this is from a totally random perspective with some of my feelings sprinkled in here and there.
The cold air blows through my hair and dances with my  body. Longing for the warmth you carry from your head to your finger tips. To feel your hand roll down my side. Searching , grasping the  essence of my heart. How I miss the the music in your chest as I lay on top of you, hearing the beats as you whisper the words I love you amongst your breath. I love you too.
E McNamara Mar 2018
Funny how
You meant so much to me
I would lose my breath
When I only saw you
And now
I swallow air easily
You mean nothing to me
Funny how
I’m still writing poetry for you.
Some part of me
Must still love you.
Why do I still write poetry for you?
Kathryn Rose Mar 2018
The Dying breaths of dawn
Linger on my lips a bit longer
Ever since he has been gone
Justin Chinyere Mar 2018
Freezing causes wheezing,
Leaving leaf spores breeding down my trachea,
Allergens spin n turn sharply attacking the tools that physicalise my life with its ins and outs
Oh 2 see oh 2 breathe oh 2 feel free from the obstructions that structure my schedule to be dormant
Walk up the stairs hold on to the side "are you ok?" No Annie in sight,
Just I, end
is nigh
I roll my knuckles and pinch my palms
Shouldve cut my nails, shot shoots up my arms.
I knock 3 times on the bannister,
I Commit to it being my balancer
Eyes leaking, chest croaking
tight feeling  like I'm choking
Gasping hurts but needed to soothe the need of a response

"I'm fine, just a bit chesty"

Don't ask any more or i can get tetchy

Lecture me on meds im taking
if my rooms tidy or am i forsaking,
still smoking? buffing and *******  that sweet foam **** till it turns hard and golden tarred like caramel muck.  
Just my luck that the something that makes me feel at ease can send me bending to my knees
not for pleas
But to construct a wheeze
Leaving me
Starting every sentence with please,
help me.
Don't even know what im pleading to
Or Who is listening to the self harmer
With a clear thought that I deserve to be preserved and cured of this karma
Inherited from my grandfather which I didn't know until I was told to ask my mother.

Ask ma

She knows about your Asthma.

She's a self destructor
well known for being a self wrecker
A self pecker
leaving holes to be filled by watless ***** carriers
Frieghts of frightening memories
Sure one day shed love to tell me.
But she destructured herself
And left me for others to construct by themselves.

Destructing the self: is the art of not giving a **** but really not giving a **** to the point that there's no fcuks to give and giving a **** means you're affected by fcuks who dont give a **** or willing to give you an iota of optimism
A helping hand
A hope full of hopeful hopes
Hopping fluently between the structure of the destructed self
Which makes me feel woozy

As i struggle hard to say no to this tobacco
especially when it's been weeks
And the feeling of ease is punishing me for a past ive not seen but i realise in that moment we have much in common

Self destruction is our common denominator
Our choice is the same and is made the same
over and over again
Its still the same
results never change
And still leave us with this taint
That we are responsible for cleansing

So what more do i need to ask ma for?
She's giving me answers by her flaws. That's her gift to me,
her way of setting me free
well here's hoping she breathes easy.
E McNamara Mar 2018
It was my destruction- in the best way.
His presence, just that alone
Would make me lose all breath
I’d be panting,
Trying to catch what I had lost.

When I saw him
My heart would do anything
But keep a rhythm
I could never walk steadily
He was my destruction- in the best way.

His eyes made me shake
My bones turned to rainwater
I was taken by him.
Hung on every word out his lips.
He was my destruction- in the best way.

And when I thought he forgot me
It shattered me
The courage I found
To talk to him
I don't know from where, it came

Turns out he had not forgotten me
But moved on from me
And that’s what hurt the most
But that was the pill I needed to swallow
To forget him

He was my heart’s destruction- in the worst way.
Talking to him shattered what feelings I had felt for him. So now I'm finally over him, but God, he made my heart beat like I was running a marathon.
E McNamara Mar 2018
I was in corner
Collecting dust
Waiting for you
Loyal to you

Until awareness
Consumed me.
I saw,
You didn’t even want me.

So I left.
I took my first,
Full,
Breath.

Since the attic
Of which
You left me
And forgot me.
empty seas Mar 2018
feel your body sink down
your hands and feet are numb
half awake, half asleep
melting into the blanket underneath you
all there is
is your breath
in
and
out

and the kindest voice
explaining and guiding
you
d
     o
           w
                n
  
                                                                ­    to even deeper relaxation
hypnosis felt so nice, like a better version of sleep
She Writes Mar 2018
The night is full of lonely people
With whiskey on their breath
And pain in their hearts
Watching the world pass by
With glassy eyes
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