My Oxygen

You lick the tendons of my oxygen- sucking away my breath bit by bit, heartbeat by heartbeat- I am drained like a broken thermometer, mercury spilling onto the floor like a small pool of ink. There is no remedy - hope has sailed its sinking ship and I sit around silently like egg-shell white paint drying on the living room walls. Effacing myself was never a choice so I drifted away from you like a blue balloon flying away from a child's distraught hand.