Money for Air

I said I would see a doctor,

but I know what they would say,

something about how I'm losing my breath.

So I've got to pay for some medication.

An act of reducing my severity,

holding on to my oxygen.

I've taped back a dollar.

Well, I need a couple of a hundred more.

It's not about the money, they said.

It's just about my health.

Well, can I have it for free then?

"No."

At least they cared halfway.

About my failing health,

Or the death I could face.

But I'm facing them instead.

I'm sitting alone watching TV.

I've muted the sound;

if I'm breathing through a straw,

I don't want to hear them talk.

Well, there I go about my emotions again.

It's such a bad habit.

The world carries more of me.

I'm here sitting, talking in pity.

I despise that,

most,

In me.