knots pull tight
dialated eyes close in vain
for i'm wide awake and well aware-
"one year this august."

breathe in

such a simple task
now shoves painfully
against the skin of my throat
as lungs reject offending air

sheets choke pale limbs
bruises like stains on silk
chipped paint from an open window
gathers silently
on a morbid cylinder, half-full
but mostly half-empty
.
.
.
.
.
breathe out.