Breathing Difficulties

Crack, the walls fall inwards, violently,

Glass falling, strangely random and smack. 

Late. Trapped within. Rebuilding, bigger, 

better, Rome to London. A consistent Hate. 

The walls fall outward, an explosions 

in your soul. A deflation, a balloon flying 

across the room. Rain on holiday, and 

chips without salt. One mark of perfect 

and five away from brilliance. I hate it, 

I love it, I'm passionately indifferent. 

The walls are static. Obviously. They're walls. 

Fire exit this way, please walk slowly 

and calmly as you try to out run a possibly 

painful death. Lover's face, not the sex.
Tired. Weightlessness. Flying. Burning.
Longing for the sweet release of swimming
within you, quenching and realising. Ending.