Wither

It's an awful feeling, watching something wither like a daisy drenched in summer's blazing heat. Time slows, emotions run irritably, and the moisture hanging in the air feels like a doctor's BP cuff clasped around my lungs. First, it's the crisp, white petals that turn a putrid, soggy brown. Before long, the tall, leafy stem that once held it all together has arched towards the ground, and no longer supports the flower's weight.

I make my way across the yard composed of brittle blades of grass. They almost break beneath my sandals, a trail of sunken footprints behind me. I've reached the wooden, rusted pen holding my two beloved pups. I watch their tongue droop from their mouths, trickling thick, sticky spit. Wolfie's breath is quick and labored, puffing his broad chest in and out. Peanut lazes in the shade, cloaked by a sea of overgrown weeds. The smiles on their snouts nearly break my heart, because I know they're hot and miserable. Yet, they still greet me with wet kisses each afternoon when I come out of the air-conditioned house. Though, I leave them all alone, in the early summer's blaze to wither.

Heat Wave

It's been one of those gloomy days, despite the fact the sun is shining high in the Indiana sky and the air's a toasty 95 degrees. My skin may be glistening with orbs of sticky sweat, but my heart is lined with snowflakes, trickling drops of icy water down into my stomach. The urge to cry tugs at my tongue, and sends a frost across my gaze.

My fingers latch onto the damp, white basket filled to the top with paint-stained clothes. My feet drift towards the empty loveseat, floating over the caramel carpet. I fall onto the cushions. Staring blankly at the pile of red and grey cotton t-shirts, the streaks of glossy black mixed with denim legs reminds me of the couple we once were.

Before the graveyard stole time we spent together wrapped in a sea of dark blue blankets, tangled like the laundry that I'm now aimlessly folding. Before afternoon scuffles were routine due to precious daylight slept away and random bills stacked inches high. Before you left the sheets unmaid, forgot to feed the dogs, and threw your socks beside the bed, leaving me to catch the slack.

It's been one of those chilly nights, although my hair's damp to touch and the temp's at 82. My skin may be cloaked with goosebumps, but my heart is scorched in flame.

Asphyxia

Lately, it's been hard to breathe.

Beats of sweat collect beneath my fingertips, pressed firmly against the radial artery. I can feel the even steadiness of my heart's beat, I wish my mind was just as stable.

I'm sprawled across my sheer, charcoal comforter and my eyes begin to roll. The lungs that rise and fall within my chest somehow forget to breathe. My head starts twirling like an uneasy ballerina. It's like a cinderblock came tumbling from the sky and fell onto my ribcage, for a heaviness is lingering throughout my upper torso.

My lungs begin to burn, crying out for delicious air. My brain ignores the pleads, and leaves me staring at the ceiling. I watch the fan cut up the oxygen that hovers in the sky; it fades from cream to midnight black, as glimmering spots of white appear before my eyes. It all goes dark, my body's nerves flutter like a swarm of butterflies batting at my limbs. Stillness overcomes me, and I've fallen into sleep.

I'm awakened by the sound of boxes slamming into concrete, as a pair of muscular arms stack my pink totes against the wall. I look into your dirty, brown eyes and draw a smile upon my face. Sucking in a plethora of air, I turn around, folding a crate between my fingers.