Less than a month ago, I lay on a cold slab in a dark room, convinced I was dying. Tonight I lay still in my soft bed and realize, maybe I still am.

Its like suffocating, you know? Being drowned in your own ******* emotions. Only fitting that the bad blood in my veins decides to clot right there, in my lungs, in the sickest poetic justice imaginable. I couldn't breathe. Am I even breathing now?

Don't get me wrong, the doctors filled me up with pills and good fortunes, telling me I would be fine if I was careful, cautious, a perfect little good girl. And I smiled and took deep breaths even though every breath killed me. So if my lungs are fine, then why am I not breathing?

Looking back, that morning I woke with sharp pains in my sides I told the doctors I had never felt something like that before. And in a way, I wasn't lying. It had never been so physical before. But the pain, the crying, the inability to breathe, well those were things I was far too familiar with. So doctor, if I'm going to live, why am I not breathing?

****, the writer of my story is one sadistic *******. I mean, that symbolism. Choking on your own lifeblood? **** near perfect. It would have been the perfect turnaround story. The mentally unstable girl finally truly stands at death's doorstep when she doesn't want to, and she realizes maybe life is worth it. That maybe even a **** up deserves dreams, deserves happiness. The tale should have ended there, right? I learned, I had that moment when I knew I didn't want to die. I felt changed. So if I am so changed, if that is my happy ending, then why am I not breathing?

Happily ever after doesn't exist. Life doesn't work that way. Tragedy is around every corner, particularly when your chemical makeup is in a constant struggle with your will to live. But everyone is so thankful, so happy I am safe and well and normal again. **** normal. **** safe. ******* **** well. If I am so well, then why am I not breathing?

Its great, you know, knowing that the "thankful for being alive" feeling will never last for me. My wiring won't allow it. All around me everyone is so proud. They say I'm strong and brave and better. Funny thing is they totally missed the metaphor. **** my facades, **** my brain, because my blood is thinning, and my world is spinning, and I'm not breathing.

Trembling hands remind me of the wind that blows with flair,
While the moonlight forbodes the coming nights with despair.
Loneliness is a cruel joke,
Lord, has thou forgotten me?
Silence once broken is more often than not- unkindly beautiful,
Some people lack the air that should biologically crush their lungs,
They are not forced to breathe,
While the rest of us,
Require more than just inhalers just to proceed.

weight
          breathless
      lungs
  air
gasp
     suffering
                 tears
    thirty one
scars
       cuts
             wounds
         dad
yelling
          fights
    cries
          survival
                      apocalypse
           suicide
      cuts
           blades
scissors
           knives
                     dying
                             sleeping
                      tired
              quiet
        ­      s
             i
            l
           e
          n
         c
        e

Brisk air can soothe you
Because warmth isn't enough to
Entertain your lungs

The city breathes in,
A rattling wind of dusty smog,
Desperate in earnest,
Filling up the tubes and chambers
Like bellows on a hot furnace.

The air is pervasive, insidious;
It sticks to your skin and burns
Like holy water flicked from Jordan,
Downstream from the chemical plants
And pipes that lead health a merry chase.

It chews up the lungs with carcinogen teeth
And spits out the bits leaving holes of black
That spread through the organs like fire,
Immolating thoughts of hope and dreams,
And constantly whispering give up the race.

The city breathes out,
A rattling wind of corrupted fog,
And those that escaped the ill in the dark
Race like the wind away from its lungs,
Before the corruption spreads to their heart.

I know what its like to almost die
To think you're going to die

Its not scary

It just makes you feel numb
Like the type of numb when you've had the ice pack on for a tad too long
Or when you sleep on your arm

I think what made me most afraid was the constant reminder

Rise and fall
I would breathe in and out
Hearing myself slowly die young

That was what frightened the **** out of me.