Waiting to Exhale
Water color black or tied-up hands,
In the eyes that try to blink their sight away.
Just barely able to breathe in here.
And I remember dying in my sleep.
But my heart still beats.
Like music for needles played on silk threads,
Or whispers of fingerprints on photographs.
On the backs of pictures I wrote, to you, beautiful.
I remember dying in my sleep, but my heart still beats.
I remember dancing on the edge and falling in.
Lost forever in this place where my breath is heavier than air
