Breathe They asked me, Slowly, gently, not wanting to scare me. But I turned round, My nose rubbing against the cold, uncaring wall.

Breathe They tell me now, Prod me with their instruments, Desperate not to loose their jobs. But I bury down lower, Stubbing my toes on the fiery bedpost.

Breathe They scream, Slapping me hard, splashing me with torrents of icy cold I wriggle, I squirm, I clam my eyes Shut.

Breathing Is what they want me to do. They want me to breathe. But tell me, is that all they want? Or do they actually want me to