Breathing

You have taken my breath away
with the words you say,
but I call that murder.
Since when is the weakening
of my life counted as success.
You have taken my breath away.
I struggle for oxygen and I am drained
of the inspiration you once gave.
You have taken my breath away,
like being punched in the stomach,
like being allergic to a scent, this scent
that some call relationships.
You have taken my breath away,
like my throat closing up
and the air is being released through
my fingertips as they tingle.
This is what death feels like.
In my own way of looking away
I am asking for someone to show
me how to inhale, exhale, again.
But there is no interest in my breathing.