trying hard not to hear but they
talk so loud
their piercing sounds fill my ears, trying to fill me with doubt

Water.
cleanse my emotions.
take them.
washhh them away.
let me breathe in the air of reason.
breathe in the calmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
release! the toxins.
Earth.
recycle me.
help me to be useful to someone else.
Air.
I take a breath in your honor.
hold it innn.
reach! for the sky.
release slowly.
while i slowly touch Earth.
thank you movement.
you are now...
my Fire.

I would like to formally apologize
for the size of my lungs
because they will never be
as expansive as my love
or as loud as my voice
longs to be as heard
or as tumultuous as my passion
rumbles in need of parallel composition

and I just want to say sorry
that I dream to donate
every cubic inch of air
that my tiny chest can or rather cannot hold and breathe it into you
in attempt to make you whole again instead of the ghostly thin form
you hold above my head nowadays
but today is Sunday
and my hands are dry and cracking
from the Friday on which
I finally admitted to myself
that my lack of air is exactly the reason why you don't search me out
for respiration even when you're
grasping and gasping
out of suffocating solitude

this apology is spelled out in sighs
those breaths you told me to hold in
youthfully long exhales
I promised you I would never pick up a cigarette once you started chain smoking
I'm choking in this secondhand smoke
let me fall through your fingers like ashes
the golden spark has died
put out my flame with your heel
stamp it into your coffin so the world doesnt catch fire
deprive it of oxygen
tell it youre sorry for not wrapping your hands around its neck before now

tell it you're sorry that sometimes I find myself becoming angry at the parchment crumpling between my palms because the FRAILTY OF MY HANDS WONT COMPLY WITH THE HUNGER FOR EXPLANATION AND EXPLOITATION OF MY BRAIN AND MAYBE ITS THAT IMMATURE NEED FOR OXYGEN AGAIN BUT I HEAR MYSELF CRYING OUT FOR RELEASE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT NOT BECAUSE YOURE HOLDING ME AT THIS PRECARIOUS EDGE BUT BECAUSE YOU CHOOSE TO NEVER TIP ME OVER.
(a sharp intake of breath)


(exhale)


I can't breathe.
I think I might be allergic to you.
I think you might be bad for my health.

there are three thousand miles between your sandy shores of ironically ****** air and my rainy lakes of needles. you'd think the contrary.

you lost your ashtray and replaced it with my inhaler.

I would like to formally apologize
for the size of my lungs
because they will never be
as expansive as your love
or as loud as your voice
longs to be as heard
or as tumultuous as your passion
rumbles in need of parallel composition

we are both still learning to breathe

When I'm dying
I want to think back on my life
And see positivity.

I want to see the lives I've touched,
The smiles and laughs I've created
And the thoughts I have provoked.

When I'm dying
I hope to have no regrets,
No fear,
And no pain trapped in my heart.

I need to be purposely positive
Because positivity is contagious
And I want the world to catch it
To stop the suffering.

What will flash through my mind?
Will I smile at the good times?
Or frown at the apology I never gave
Due to my own stubbornness.

When you're dying,
What do you want to see?