Iron Lungs

I stutter and spit and pressure forms a pit in the center of my chest and this pit is gauged, punched, wrenched, gouged, torn away from my slowly pumping arteries, arteries that ooze and eek and reek of desperation as my lungs inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale and my breathing is too fast and my brain loses track of time and my diaphragm misses a step and the beat is a staccato now and the tango and tap are forgotten in the midst of this attack. The pit keeps growing, growing and consuming the muscles and bones and soon they are decalcified and brittle and the pressure erupts and my lungs wheeze and whisper and I slip and slip and slip into the abyss opening behind my eyes as my bones are ground into a powder that floats away with my breath.