Bags

these tired out lungs are conditioned to work as though they were free minded and not just an object, in the body of a child but strung together with the heart of an old woman. dry like a book held on the shelf forever watching the others be taken away as a prisoner of the earth only to be left and torn from the inside out like her sister. she was stained with dark shots and tired of being over worked. yearning for someone to choke the life and spare these bags tied onto her bones from years of breathing. speaking and moaning, keeping alive the ship that sails these blood red seas, my veins, to find the true coast of the nicotine and salt. the taste of ashes, smoke, and the fog. smeared deep, darkness creeping along the deck and swiping out all others that try to get in its way.