'Breathing' - Poem by Bob James
The boredom and stillness of inertia is like hands wrapped around my throat. Squeezing shut the airways, so that the only air I know is the empty air around me. Air that offers me nothing, nor contains anything for my taking, anything of use. Reminding myself to breathe, which in itself has become like a cheap magic trick, yet somehow fooling everyone. Except me.
Comments about 'Breathing' by Bob James
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.