I Am The Atlantic

The background music thins, leaving only the strings, and the audience falls silent to listen to her sleeping.
We whisper through phone lines that choke the life out of me sometimes. (I can barely breath.) The elegance of black and white photography is set off by a set of eyes so blue its blinding.
The medic says, "He's drowning." The doctor says, "We've got a heartbeat." My mother says, "Just rest, sweetie, your lungs are too shallow to breath."
All I've got left is to pull at these heart-strings, until I strike a chord that'll make you come back to me. We hate the way we are sometimes.
Her hair's still caught in power-lines and there's no light left in my eyes.