Thursday, April 28, 2016

last of its kind

My breath would sort of half-catch at the back of my tender throat. Do you know the sensation? Like with a peanut skin or popcorn hull?

It’s so much more singular, though. Swelling shuts it off, not some outside object. Your own body begins to choke you.

All you can do, all I can do is wait. One of these days, it won’t unstick.

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