The air is thin and still I breath heavy. I’m crawling on payment and biting the curb. My teeth glisten red plasma that sticks to my lips. My eyes gloss over and everyone thinks I’m sleepwalking again. I’m meeting parts of myself that feel like a stranger- hello old friend, you’ve felt like a ghost. Memories become immortal if you can tell a good story. It’s like writing a map- making sure the gold is actually where you say it is. And liars get buried so you might as well tell the truth because they’ll dig you up either way. Their fingernails will bend and break, but they’ll find the truth- they always fucking do. Every living thing bleeds red. Dying leaves turn red. Your eyes flash red before you faint. It’s such a color of finality- things leaving without promising to return. Remember this before deciding to hide in a place you deem sacred. It never was. It never was. It never was. You’re not as holy as you may think. We’re all sinners, after all. This is the part where everyone tells you to breath. Count. You’re doing well. Everything is alright. The hardest part is seeing through those lies before you decide to believe in it all. The air is thin and I still breath heavy. -AMT