ProAir

Who has the energy for an apocalypse 

I can barely get down from my second floor apartment to pick up my free-because-of-an-Ativan-trade coffee

I’m worried about the lady I sometimes buy a coffee for who chain-smokes on the bench outside 

“What’s your name again,” she asks 

“You don’t have a cigarette, do ya?” 

I won’t even know if this thing kills her, is the crazy part

I’ll just stop seeing her around

Everyone on the train has scarves over their mouths 

I’m just taking shallow breaths 

I was in the ER for respiratory problems repeatedly in 2018, before it was good for clout

I can feel my lungs tighten at the thought of going back 

If this is how I’m going out, Celiac can eat my ass, I’m eating pizza again 

I’m gonna wrap myself in a pie from Joe’s like a marathon runner in one of those foil blankets until I’m covered in oil and tangled in mozzarella

Bury me in a pizza box with a pair of Chicago J’s on 

Shave my face too, but keep my mustache 

If I had a crush on you and didn’t get to tell you, it wasn’t about you—I was just waiting for my beard to connect 

I posted this on my story and you responded but I don’t think you made the connection

And that’s okay, because your heart is already overflowing as it is 

Your lungs work fine, but I’m more worried about you than me 

I don’t really know why 

I just want to wrap you in a sweater and scrub your sneakers with a toothbrush 

Let you take a nap and lace you up proper when you’re awake 

I’ve never seen you in white anything, but a clean pair of Nikes would suit you 

I’d cut your hair too, if you wanted 

It looks nice how it is, but when I think about my thumb resting on the base of your neck, I can practically hear you exhale

And not in a sigh, which is all I’ve ever heard from you, but a slow, steady current

The kind that makes the corners of your mouth turn up into a little shit-eating grin when you remember how good it feels to breathe