Letting the Air Out
By birksy
In my hands a cushion, blown up before we did, full of air that I breathed when we were still together. So now I release the valve, squeeze it tight, hear the whistle, let it mix with the stale stuff now we're apart. And when it's finished, when the plastic is creased into itself, I drop it in the bin, and hold my breath until I leave. Written April 18th, 2002 © on Apr 18 2002 12:35 AM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 1
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"In my hands a cushion, blown..."