On Repeat

My breaths come out short and quick in staccato

But there is nothing sweet about it

as I close my eyes, silently willing the darkness to envelope me

I find myself teaching my lungs how to breathe

Each breath of air, feels like a stab in my gut,

like something in my ribcage needs to be set free.

I can hear my desperation, mirrored on the stereo

the booming drums, frantically beat my heart for me-

he sings about the things I oft dream of,

dreams he has already seen die.

The familiarity of his defeat, hope’s soft glow

I have long roamed these roads.