Broken Air Bags

My mothers lungs
have tranformed
into sponge’d glass

slowly
Filling themselves;

Accumulating
In their bottoms.

suffocation
Slowly creeps
Up her vines

where air
used to live.

it did go
in and out,

i saw it
happen;

dwelling
effortlessly
in her pause.

[but not
anymore]

Published by

oiseauxwords

I am bird, these are my words.

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