Pressure, press down.
This toxic mist is increasing
the strain on our cleft.
Choke, splutter; chisel it out from your lungs.
I must accept that I am on the cusp
of forgiving you, bereft casket.
My tinny expulsion is scraping out the excess
of our fragile lining.
It is not an easy task and I feel sick.
I peel you back to the quick;
put on this mask, we are on the brink
A fissure of spoiled tissue
Warning: This Chest Is Sinking!
Raise the alarm; we are suffocating.
Caution wanes – I corrupt this.
This chemistry has been compromised.