Victims Of Breathing

By Sanya Shah

Air inside my lungs—what a faint, unsettling trap, Like that which is held patient by a bubble-wrap.

Slowly, I’m biting the air cushions with my nails, Like you rupture my lungs, peel off the scales.

You transpire this imprisoned air—sickening, ending, Like we’re breathing—like we’re dying but pretending.

My hollow lungs drown in our fading prayers, Like they’re evading breaths of forged layers.

By Sanya Shah