Home, sick

Barefoot on uneven concrete,
‎‎‎‎ bathed in first rays of sunlight.
A deep breath,
a long, s^ha_k^y exhale. In for four, out for eight.
I close my eyes, secure and safe,
knowing you’ll be there…
when I open them.
Cool morning air, flowing and
s
w
i
r
l
i
n
g in my lungs like black smoke.
Darting eyes under eyelids begging to be pried.
Chirped songs bouncing off
each green leaf,
each branch,
each uncomfortable metal chair
or on the holey, rusted metal table
once painted black.
Gentle warmth on my face,
vision a bright red.
Cawed shrieks pierce serenity,
like a firework,
like a bullet.
My eyes shoot open…

Oh, you’re gone.