Last Days

My soda can’s exterior sweats

Like a condemned man awaiting his sentence

Waiting for the guillotine to drop

It sweats

From the dry heat inside this break room

Liquid beads slid down its side

Like tears falling from an eye

Yet

It’s freezing

Just beyond the windowpanes

Squared glass framed visions of the outside

I wonder

As my break is coming to an end

And I have to

Go back to the factory’s floor

Will this be my last day?

The wind is cold outside

But

At least it carries hope of something different

Hope of a place

Where my bones no longer hurt

A place where they won’t wake me

In the night with the feeling of

Bending and burning beneath my skin

A place where dust no longer fills my lungs

Agitating my bad genes

My Alpha 1

My CF

Yes, doctors assured me dust would be the death of me

And here I stand working in this factory

Day after day

Trying to stay above water

While getting one step closer

To drowning in my own lung’s fluid

But for now

It’s time go back to the time clock

Until I’m ready to trust the cold wind

Just outside the window

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling