I wake with rocks in my chest
Mossy, damp ones that sit heavy
And jam rough corners into my ribs
But this, this doesn’t hurt so much,
Not like my lungs hurt
when they are too full for air.
And this wheeze is a normal thing—
In its labored mist I see,
The suffocating yellow spots,
Those dizzy dots,
Thick as starving fleas
Already making a meal of me.
How my fingers tingle
As my chest fills with sand,
Lungs bound in tight rubber bands.
Sometimes, I drink coffee—
Hot and black,
Just to try and get my breathing back.
But one day, I might truly dare
To refuse the doctors their tainted air
Then I’ll take a restful sleep
In the airless place in-between
Where that distant ebony sea
Comforts the cold gold stars
who call to me.
In that airless place beyond the sea.