Breathing is gambling
Your soul is a Die tossed into existence
By the hand of chance
Lungs are too fragile fingers
failing to catch a breath.
Teeth as tokens for smiling
Before biting the dust.
I’ve been basking in radiation for too long now.
My skin is old wrinkled clothing
Life is too cold to iron it back to its youth
Instead the grave will strip me bare.
Expose my inside to the absence of air
When the lashes of my chambers hug
Locking my eye balls to eternity
Everything I ever was
Coruscating behind eyelids.
Sealing me into a reverie
Introducing me into a dream
Screws that hinge my jawbone will loosen its grip.
Mouth will slightly open
Not for Breathing
Or speaking
But surrendering to silence.
Counting the beat of our hearts
As if they were chips, stacked against oblivion.
The wheeze reclining on my frigid chest.
Exits as a whisper
Soil will cuddle my skeleton out of existence
My last embrace will be shrinking
Shuffle my limbs like a deck of cards.
To decay is a slow magic trick of disappearing
My funeral will be a magic show
Death is a Trickster
It’s slight of hand means game over.
My corpse is a coin in a slot machine
With exhausted credits
Nobody makes it out alive
The house always wins.
But remember that every sigh is a bet
Every day lived is you winning.
You have been risking
Been surviving
From the time you got here
We can’t sit at this table forever
Whatever happens to the vague us
Stays and invades us.
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