One long breath

prose poetry

I exhaled the biggest puff of my life and then I looked up at the sky and

I shouted “Drug abuse can be a metaphor!”

“A metaphor for what?” it shouted back.

“Not everything has a name, you know,” I said, admittedly a little

flustered by the question.

That’s when the sky leaned in close, real close, so close I could feel the

fucking vacuum that pulls at everything we know every second of every

single day, and whispered, “You’re running out of time, you have to do

something,” and that made enough sense to scare the breath out of

me so I picked up my shovel and I ran on and on until the sky

disappeared behind the horizon and I didn’t feel safe and I don’t think I

ever will again but goddamn it if I’m not gonna do my best to. Chill.