83 Breaths
“83 BREATHS”
everyone’s hell is a
different temperature.
the ride into it
never breaks down.
12 to 12 hell remains.
hell stays like leaches
sucking what’s left of
your life.
hell is in every direction,
every face, and every move.
the words pull from the
fire and lay upon straw.
before I disappear into
my sleep, I stop, look,
I listen.
I can hear the tears of
the frogs fall from their
faces.
if our planet is the only
one with our type of life,
how lucky are the others
that no pain exists.
I can wrap this up now,
reading as I write.
no one can hear me.
birds drop, dandelions
born bald and there are
no more bandages for
scraped knees.
families break, children cry,
bloodsuckers raise the heat
in the kitchen.
as we climb into the oven,
prepare for the next stop.
Sylvia Plath waits.
By: Chicano Eddie
10-28-2016
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