dying hands pushing through saran wrap. tearing it open like a cigarette burning through cellophane.

slowly but surely, i will find my oxygen route.

the breathing tube obstructed in passing, early morning breaths. open your eyes before this one becomes your last. grab the sheets with clenched fists, a jump; startled, wide eyes.

you just got hit by a truck, and you forgot how to breathe. go back to sleep; tumbling, tumbling, falling from monuments to all things dying.

our nature, urban skylines sustained by industrial pastimes, frames of thought computing an extension of civilization.

here we are; one rip away from penetration. too hesitant to make it out before there’s no oxygen left.