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