Constricted bronchioles and anxiety had a baby
Within my father's chest
They named her asthma
And it is him she does possess

Coughing fits and nervous breaks
Are not easy scenes to bear
Stomach injections, lung inspections
Soiled clothes and messy hair

Then the coctails come, one by one,
Morphine, Pulmocort, Seroquil
An IV is the quickest fix
But it doesn't always fit the bill

Long inhilations, short exhilations
It increases rapidly
It's full blown now, she has attacked
Asthma, you're a mystery

Why do you posses such a man
That cares for others more?
I guess everyone has their weakness
But other have it worse, I am assured

He’s Theseus, lost in a maze
he says, "You’re beautiful,"
over beers with friends,
like whispers caught in the wind
he talks of Cuba,
dreams of late night coctails, dancing, puros
on the hot white sand.

He’s planning Christmas
at her favorite Italian spot,
as if love were a dish,
as if they could feast in Elysium
his glance feels like a stolen apple—
sweet, forbidden.

There’s another waiting,
her shadow always near.
she wears his heart.
even Ariadne’s thread won't lead him home to her.

Yet she wishes,
she stands like Andromeda,
weaving hope by moonlight,
hoping he’ll break free from his chains,
and choose her as his goddess,
like Orpheus, daring to look back.