Softened thoughts pillow smothered before made sound,
the feathers catching still at the back of my throat
bent out of shape
bone splintered and lost from their use.
That catch of breath left caught,
held by fabric’d silencer
muted into submission,
or perhaps just bedded for now.
It’s the unbreathable,
the suffocation of controlled thought
which leans me,
an internal passing out
and continual semi-consciousness,
like I gauzed, paused,
self-induced silent to prevent full collapse.
My heart is bed ridden.
weighted while that feather coughs itself,
now and then, into staggered breath
and stunted speech.
Such a light thing,
a deceptively floated way of being
that staggered me like whiplash
and has the power
to floor me should it will itself to.
External submission, internal asphyxiation.