"Breathe, Bonnie,"
Oh yeah, air.
I let myself inhale;
ecstasy at last.
Somehow forgotten and freakishly foreign,
the air's redemption is my reminder.
I had a promise broken,
it's pieces like shards of glass,
cutting into my conscience.
It's almost unbearable,
the guilt-trips
and pointed fingers.
Unbreakable friendships
tearing at the seams.
Problems and miscommunications
I knew were there, but didn't want to see;
they were hidden by my enormous ego.
It blinded and hid me from the world,
A broadly skeptical sheet over my eyes.
All I had left was a small grasp,
the pads of my fingers
suppressing my weight.
Along with everything
I had been,
I was slowly slipping away.
Again, I was saved.
"Bonnie," they say,
"Breathe in."
Oh yeah,
air.
I need that.
