Edited by Hannah Masih

The air is too thick.
It curls its bony fingers around my neck,
melting the skin and the flesh off my bones,
'til I am sludge, sticking to soil.

It releases its grip eventually,
though fear does love to linger,
dragging me down like titanium,
a bug trapped in sap.

When it is done, I am transformed,
flung into a world of greige.
Where there is no familiar spike,
of an icy dagger up my spine.

My words aren't followed by a wince, 
but a smile.
I can feel judgement recoil.

But all dreams are temporary.
The bugs glue me back together,
and I am home.