I want your lungs to stop working without me.

The Weekly Occurrence.

My eyes smile falsely
“oh god, keep calm”,
your conversation is a palette of the brightest colours
I contribute the occasional hideous streak of
murky browns and greys
Your voice is a question then
it retreats with you

I can’t tell you it’s happening again
The signs: a painful swelling in my throat, hunch in my shoulders
You turn from shutting the door and the sunlight out
to find me on my knees
crying, mostly in disbelief
partly in self-pity

With swimming eyes I search for your tired ones
the tip of my tongue dipping for
answers, explanations
but they all die on my parted lips

This whole time you were looking away.

“Are you mad?” you say no
“Am I?” Am I?

I’m slipping into my worn coat of despair and
pulling it tight around me
The buttons fasten from the inside
but still your fingers fumble in the
shadows I’ve cast for an opening, a catch
while I sit numbly
thinking “I’m-so-sorry-you-don’t-deserve-this”
thinking of only two days before,
our laughter and complete forgetfulness of
the world outside our blankets.