I was running,
and running,
and running,
so hard,
so fast for hours,
and yet I didn't know what I was running from.
Then there was this sensation
of my breath being taken from me.
I was winded,
but not just winded.
I felt all the oxygen stuck inside me
turning into carbon dioxide.
I couldn't exhale,
my throat was closing,
I couldn't breathe.
How much longer do I have.
My finger tips are turning blue.
I need my inhaler.
I need it.
Where is it?
Where is it?
Is this how I go?
Is this how my life ends?
Cut short,
by my own body,
as my asthma takes control.
Calm down.
Calm down.
Relax.
Now think.
Breathe slower,
don't wheeze.
In through the nose,
out through the mouth.
I feel my lungs fighting,
and I know they're losing the battle,
and then my inhaler is in sight.
I take it,
and I use it,
but all I hear,
is empty puffs.
The blood now pounds in my ears.
I'm dying.
And I slowly start to fall.
I'm dying.
I feel my body go limp.
I'm dying.
And my mind hits a wall.
I'm dying.
And then I wake up,
breathing heavily in my bed,
grasping for my inhaler.
I use it,
and it works.
I didn't actually need it,
I was fine.
But in my dream I was attacked,
by my own body.
I thought I would actually have to say,
Good bye.