Laboured Breath

One breath, and then
another laboured breath
wrestling with coughs,
purse slowly empties.

Colours change, from
green to deep red.
Empty weights grow
heavy on the weak.

Tired hands, desperate,
grasp and grip,
holding on, still,
as if they quietly beg.

The room fills with
darkness, printed on paper,
piling up on a mat
by the unlocked door.

One breath. One last
laboured breath,
wrestling with a cough.
Now, the endless hole.

laboured-breath

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