i am filled (breath) with
   the nostalgia you (breath) encounter
after leaving a movie theatre the
        thick sense of guilt and daylight
returning to find your spine,
run up and down the cord i am
  not (breath) afraid
of dying but, but, i am,
i am afraid of leaving the
     theatre my pupils expanding
as the lights go up, credits
   roll on the sick sense of
despair crashing falling through
the building of my body and i
i,   i,   i,    i find
        myself (breath) googling
“i am almost 18 and i have never been kissed
is that bad” question mark ? until
2 in the morning and
you try to recreate that sensible darkness—
never leave your room, turn the lights
            off—wear a sweater,
it’s chilly and don’t—don’t—don’t—
don’t step out of the theatre (breath)