Cyclical

Past the halfway        Past the half-full

Half-empty

Pour over my bitter coffee skin

Beauty in the breaking

Richness in your first sip

Taste on your lips and listen 

to me

I’m spotlit on a platform, like an open mic

Or self-made slave auction 

My body aches either way

As my stifled exhale restricts my alto voice 

Whips 

And shower steam no longer loosens me

Thinking of the noose 

No wonder I still have neck pain

Sometimes I’m paralyzed and my breath forgets

My body forgets

Mind numb and aimless

Evaporating and I wonder if this is it

My existence