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six feet under

each breath is shallow

by necessity

because i can’t breathe

any deeper

coughs errupt from

deep within me

yielding nothing

and the endless waiting

becomes tiresome

waiting

waiting

always

never knowing how long

recovery will take

not knowing when

lungs will once more be

fully filled with air

i wonder if

waiting to die

is somehow like

waiting to be healed

you reach that point eventually

when it’s all over

but only the people who die

can see their lives after death

for the living

death is an enormous finality

there’s no returning

maybe these are depressing thoughts

for one waiting to be well

but one has a lot of time

to think

while waiting

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