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
