Six Word Memoir- The Box

Lived in box, buried in one 


-anna sluder 

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C(O2)

When were you going to tell me That I am becoming your carbon dioxide When simply in my presence, at the look at my face Your skin thins of color, until eventually you turn as blue as mold on bread As blue as waters an infant drowns in  And you stumble backwards choking on my existence  Suffocating on her lack of existence  When were you ever going to tell me  That I am your carbon dioxide The putrid taste you wring from your tongue  With a swish of water, with a gulp of her The forgotten halos of cold breaths wispy and wet  Drying and floating away into the icy sky  When were you ever going to choose a damn time to tell me  That I will always be your carbon dioxide  The disposable you will always use like razor blades  That are there for the moment to saw the growing filth off  And then soon in the trashcan as shunned as your dirt But baby I can cut too So when were you going to tell me you fo...
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First's

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Another Poem about My Body In Which My Body is the Poem

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