behind a mask. I breathe my own exhalations
and my breath is endless. I consume.
This death is changing the world,
but the world doesn’t want to make eye contact.
Nothing guarantees safety -
surrounded by nothing human
we can never know what it’s like to be
slave to breath and beauty.
Suppose the story ends here,
rising and falling with each breath.
How the days get stacked
one upon the other.
The streets I love, closed tight like buds.
What if with the tear of life running through you,
you will finally be able to breathe?