too long. too little. too late.

every breath is like a blunt knife
slicing through my rib cage
fillets for lungs
there is no blood
but dry clumps of ash
and deep crimson iron.

an unexpected car horn,
sudden opening of an office door,
pearls of shrill laughter:
are like hidden landmines
erupting in my chest
only, the decimated heart fails to stutter.

grey matter autopilot
stolen words and energy
enough only to keep my lids from
allowing my departure.
permanence of fog; at least the day is grey.
but my cold feet keep me painfully awake.

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