in the moments when every article, moment and particle has amounted and configured and thus disfigured your mental state. when you look up to breathe, but don’t make it, because your breath just gets stuck. you gasp for air, and every bolting ambition and disgruntled feelings, high strung elation of moments, the anxiety…they all run like the medicine in the iv to your fiery strawberry hair…your chambers are weak, and you’ve lost the will and words to speak. how many breaths do you have left? you wonder, as you take a deep one, once again, straining the last bit of synapse drops you hold as everything contracts within. everything is an endless spin. holding up your hands, glazed eyes, trying again…take a deep one…but will you make it to your next breath?
illustration by: Sabine Ten Lohuis | photo of Florence + the Machine
- The Deep Breath That Lasted Three Days (sticklersforsyntax.wordpress.com)