THE OLIVE

The bad luck cat
Hides under a ladder
My hand spills salt
Which entices your laughter

Cut short by an olive
You're unable to breathe
Without air in space
It grows hard to see

Panic inside
That tightens your chest
Inside your mind screams
But you cannot draw breath

Splattering ink
Form shadows of night
It grows hard to think -
You're ready to die

A pinpoint
Of light descends
Air opens and
New life begins

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