NaPoWriMo #2

Prompt #2: that of a poem that tells a lie

I thought it would be good for me
to untangle the love I have for you,

I began to reflexively choke,
the space between
my lungs and the opening of my lips
became a vacuum
the space between
my lungs and my flared nostrils
had suddenly formed a trap gate.

in the midst of the sudden freeze
of my body, my larynx mustered
a few last words,
“I –
don’t love you.”

Since that moment, I have not
learned how to exhale, I have
only learned to inhale with
grief.

It is good for me, I tell myself.

The lungs are perpetually
exposed to dust, however our bodies are designed
to protect us, we have defense mechanisms.
The average persons breathes in
one-thousand pounds of dust throughout
their lifetime, but lucky for us, our airways
capture most of those
particles,
doctors find no more than
forty pounds of dust.

It is good for me, I tell myself.
My lungs are no longer filled with
your breath,
is it possible for
lungs to be so empty that they
collect dust?

I began to fall out of love with you, and I
began to fall in the arms of death.

What if I’m not designed to protect myself?

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