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burn

that muffle, that fog burned off the roads into my lungs. depressed breathing, it's called. depressed breathing, it could be called. you're sitting on my chest again, you're sitting on my chest & the words, the words don't come, or don't come the way you want them to. you want them, too. I say, I can't breath like this. I say, I can't breathe, like this will take the weight off. take the weight off, I have no words. I for you, I have only the fog & roads of my lungs & that's not enough. that's just not enough.
©2008-2009 ~panika
:iconpanika:

Author's Comments

been a long time since I put up a prose poem. I think I've gotten a lot better at it considering all the things I can now add in for effect.

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:iconaymo:
*Claps*
I love the fact that you conveyed your idea through progression, and not by one concluding sentence!!

^_^ excellent piece!!

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January 29, 2008
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