easy as breathing

in the belly of the beast breathing doesn't come easy,

there is air, here, but not enough,

and the knowledge that one day it will run out

makes a part of you wish it was never there in the first place,

because at least asphyxiation is an ugly word,

the kind that makes your tongue cut itself on each syllable,

not slur into silence

like these shallow silent gasps.

But as long as there is air here

it will be yours,

paper lungs rasping rhapsodies into an empty room,

you're alive.