Waiting To Exhale

Water color black or tied-up hands, in the eyes that try to blink their sight away. Just barely able to breathe in here. And I remember dying in my sleep. But my heart still beats. Like music for needles played on silk threads, or whispers of fingerprints on photographs. On the backs of pictures I wrote, to you: Beautiful. I remember dying in my sleep, but my heart still beats. I remember dancing on the edge and falling in. Lost forever in this place where my breath is heavier than air