Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

The Apneatic.

I am a man of fire.

I am a calm stream of thought prone to interruption by sporadic flares of action.

I am a rock thats been chiseled by flame with a jagged, solid surface left warm from it’s lashings.

I can unfalteringly prosaic and, in the same moment, retain the capacity to explode and send shrapnel outward — carving up the space around me.

I write the word “optimism” on my hand so my fire doesn’t turn dark.

I keep my breathing slow and even.

I am the ever-wavering apneatic.

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