Breathing

The wind caresses

Sweetly the wisps of hair,

The blue sky moves-

Gently,

Rolling the clouds past-

As a conveyor belt of images.



Watching in unison,

As the rest of the world

Seems to slow down

Into a blurry slide show.

Scratching at the scars,

The scabs strong,



Reminders of the pain,

The need to be real,

The need to feel in control-

As environments of suffocation,

dissipate-

Into shapes of white fluff.



J.Bibi