17 September 2009

286: for a friend

i don't think i could ever live again.
i've swallowed this and regurgitated and forced myself to swallow it again.
your words choke me at the base of my throat,
i just want to let it go, take a deep breath and release it into my fleshy lungs,
i've grown tired of the feeling of collapsing organs.

but you won't let me,
and i know i won't let myself, not that easily, to feel the regrowth of my ribs,
arms twisted around, fingers crawling up my spine, fixing each and every crack.

no, i can't, i don't know how,
i was never taught how to fight. i want to try it for myself,
taste the first bursting cell, first black blood (although i already know perfectly what it would be like).

so no, my friend, i will not pull myself up with the help of your body this time,
i haven't yet figured out how. i can feel that breeze, and to be honest,
i don't think i could ever live again.

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