Came to see if I was breathing,
I’m just needing a moment to calm down.
It’s just me still caged in this grieving
a sinking feeling causing me to drown.
Regardless of the gasping
it never stops; the question asking,
and my own answers are lacking
go ahead and tell ‘em, Long Lungs.

Hand over mouth in surprise and despair,
preventing fact from making a great escape.
A single breath couldn’t start to prepare
the never ending lines of caution tape.
Ignoring all of the many problems,
resigned to never solve them,
no one offers help so why involve them?
Go ahead and tell ‘em, Long Lungs.

I’ve been screaming silently most of my life.
Echoing pain and torment for endless miles.
Questioning visible scars while holding the knife,
that caused the death of seriousness and birthed countless smiles.

Came to see if I could tell or show
and speak the words I could never know,
while my grip weakens so I let it go,
and hope whatever falls can regrow.
Go ahead and tell ‘em Long Lungs.
Through all of the many seasons
they stopped changing and started bleedin’
I don’t judge’ cause I’m sure they have their reasons.
Go ahead and tell ‘em Long Lungs.

Its terrifying here
The kind of cold that makes your bones ache
Is this hell?
Is this some kind of agony?
Am I still drowning?
They say that drowning is horrible if you hold your breath
But if you give up and inhale the water
You get some kind of relief
Your brain is starved of oxygen
Your lungs fill to full capacity
Why does it feel so tempting?
The salt water stings your eyes
There's nothing left to hope for
Nothing left to breathe
You can pray to god
Or you can curse him for a remedy
But you still drown
And your body sinks
There's no fighting it
You are drowning
Just as you've always been

skin made of fire
organs made of flame
each strand of hair a wisp of smoke

living in a forest
one touch can blow it all away
but there's nothing like
free oxygen.

There must be madness swirling inside me
My stomach aches
A sickly urge in the back of my throat
I imagine it whirls around in my blood
Surging through my body like morphine
It spreads to my hands at first
A tremble of my fingers slipping glass from my hold
It glitters before my eyes
i feel it travel to my forearms creeping up into my biceps
Scars reopen and red spills
My fingers now coated in crimson
Then it's clogged my chest all to fast
It's getting harder to breathe but still my lungs fill with air
Heart squeezing, ribs popping out of place
Yet my body stays the same
From there it splits in two ways
One drips down into my stomach
then pooling in my feet and weighing me down
The other creeps up my neck
Taking the oxygen from my head
It starts to spill out my eyes
In tears of panic
And i remember the ways to stay sane
None of them work now
Nothing is working now

You're the
Oxygen mask
To the plane crash
That I've
Always been

I don’t know how we ended up here
The mountains and the crisp air
Something cliche about the atmosphere
Something I read in a poem in my notes somewhere
A feeling of contentment dances nearby
And infused with the oxygen we both breathe in

Absorbing Sun's caring embrace
and the water's life,
the trees mix them into oxygen for the man,
for he has planted the seeds
which marked their beginning — organisms vital for wildlife and shelter.

The man now receives their appreciation
with the maturing of the fruit.
To eat it is honoring its purpose and time,
for it grew only for you, as a gift.
Earth's hospitality was never meant for granted,
but be returned to the cycle.

It spins like our planet in space,
around a warm core and a cold shell.
Stars there align to the call of energy
designed to dance in gray,
and to portray protons and electrons
in a chemical reaction,
beginning of the first light — pressed lighter igniting candles.