By, J. Lynn Dickson
Breathe in, breathe out
Does it hurt you too?
Is your chest on the brink of self-destruction,
Internal combustion?
Can you hear the bomb
Tick
Ticking
As steady as the beat of your heart?
Does it hurt?
Inhaling, knives piercing
Blood dripping red on every breath
Death lingers thick
Pendulum on a string
Tears prickle desert lids
Pools escape on darkened half moons
Jagged, cold,
The needle digs deeper
Drawing hope, injecting despair
Time to whisper goodbyes in the wind
Take the final exhale…
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I've been writing for many years, and for most of them I've not shared my work, my thoughts, or my life in the public realm. My change of heart has come from the realization that I was given a gift and that not sharing that gift defeats the reason it was given to me. I've been inspired and loved by many people who have encouraged me over the years and it is to them that I owe my gratitude and recent success in professional writing. To all of them I say, thank you.
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