I feel like holding my breath
All the time like some precious wealth
Strolling to work at a leasurely pace
Forcing myself not to see your face
Like stepping into a puddled depth
Just to ignore my shoes catching their death
It'll probably feel like winter all too soon
With no other street pal than a stranded moon
Surely not mooning all over spring
Lest it misses another chance to sting
I feel like sinking into a pavement crease
Lest suffocation has mercy enough to cease
Catching for air instead of fishing for straws
I know my case is hopeless, I'd better show
myself right through the thoughtfully open doors
I feel like closing my eyes.
Breathing has surely once felt nice.
My empty lungs seem to miss it as such.
It's likely though not to finally please me much.