Rubber

Hot fuzz grows from the pores
Of my wood paneled walls.
Sustained by the same stale air
That now sits stagnant in my lungs.
It has been over saturated
With repeated phrases.
Miscarriages of soliloquies
And inward promises.

As evidenced by my blood flushed face,
To breath again is but a pipe dream.
Instead I sit wishing on stars unseen,
Waiting for the color to drain from my pupils.

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