tagNon-Erotic PoetryBreathing Without Oxygen

Breathing Without Oxygen


without oxygen.

without blood.

without limbs.

I am a ghost
misting outside your window.

you turn from your crimson painting
brush in hand
frown at the February sky
pull your sweater against the chill
and draw the curtains

I pound phantom fists
But the still fence
goes on dreaming of the spring vegetables
you will plant.

I wail and scream and cry
But no one hears.

The only sound
ticka ticka ticka
dead vines
on your peeling porch
in the winter wind.

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byDeepGreenEyes© 8 comments/ 2201 views/ 3 favorites

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