Falter

Breathing stops with concentration 
A body which lacks the capacity for both 
She realises
A deep sigh
Focus. 
A breath with each stroke
Both are jagged and imperfect

Choose. 
An air without the sharp coolness she craves
Or bold colours layered and sickly 
Which the eye cannot seperate
Which almost distract from the bleakness underneath

She despises each one of her creations 
Never sufficient energy to devote to them
Nor sufficient happiness to avoid them