lungs

Long ago, when the nights were darker than they are now

I was able to breathe.

Not anymore, not with the roaches in my lungs and

The weight on my chest, digging into my skin just a little more everyday

I stare at my reflection in the mirror

It stares back, as a younger me, who is looking on in horror

Because they know what they have become

And they cannot come to terms with reality

Neither can I, but at least I'm trying to.