I Can’t Breathe (I Think)

Breathe.
Can’t you see her crying?
Old toys scream in echoes,
back and forth they scream,
“Where is my mommy?”
She can’t breathe,
and her children are on fire.
She thinks they are,
I think.

Don’t you care
that she doesn’t?
Lying between lovers and more lovers,
her eyes—and this world—are black.
But a smile has swallowed her face;
everything is better,
I think,
with smack.

She said, “Can I come a little closer?”
She didn’t care, too high to notice,
and Daddy said, “Of course!”
I think
the sex pushed her over.
She’s broken now (she thinks),
a ***** that cannot breathe.

Her girlhood smoldered,
I think
the ashes are growing
as her income rises.
Prostitute! Good for nothing,
nothing but ass.

I think
she’s dying in soot,
and the pain’s so good,
she can’t breathe, gasping.
Gasping.

Why don’t you see
her suffocating?
She’s toxic,
I think.

Yet everything’s better,
I think,
with smack.

But it killed her,
didn’t it? (No.)

I think it was you.

A beautifully written piece Love. Certainly your longest in a while, too. xD

Love you lots.

:kittylove: :kittylove: :kittylove: :kittylove: :kittylove: :kittylove: :kittylove: :kittylove: