Poetry Friday: Real People

Real People

I can’t breathe the air in here.
When did I get better, huh?
Happened so slow I didn’t even notice.
Dunno if it really happened.

So much air,
so much air.
I can’t breathe it,
can’t breathe it or I’ll die more deaths than I’ll allow.

The in and out breath spins my mind;
promises more paralyzing moments like this.

I learned on TV what happens in beds,
and sleep is only half of it.
There’s waking up and moving,
accepting the dawn.

Real people sleep in darkness
and live in light.
I’ll never get another night’s rest
without you in my mind.


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