Controlled Breathing

For precision of movement Taking aim on dead air Is like magic Eye, to hand, to target But this dead air Is stagnant No movement Due to it's presence I'm not hovering Waiting for my next breath It's shallow And my capacity is low I'm afraid to fill my lungs In such an enclosed space And I can't recall When my vision was clear The sequence of events That lead me to this place Individually, are beautiful, unchangeable actions Occasionally I feel a cool breeze on my face and it brings me round Momentarily alert There's no crystal clarity On the dead breath No heightened sense Of where I should be It's just a vacuum An environment where Factors outside of control Are minimised Until I act and react Within the confines Of perceived perimeters And don't combust