Mixing colors in my chest
first to green and then to blue.
A tight feeling
but breath makes the pressure
that much better.
My life has distracted me
from what it really means
to live.
And as I page
through each worn thought
I feel my ratty clothes
and patchy gloves.
Are my fingernails
that short?
That choppy?
My skin that dry?
That scaly?
Memory has convinced me
of the tattered truth
that is me.
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