You are taking short, asphyxiating breaths.
There is no air in you.
I talk softly to you, aspirate you.
Your lungs are full of what you have not said.
You are not breathing.
This place is anaerobic.
I lance myself. My blood is thick and viscous
And slowly saturates my clothes.
There are too many others here.
I now am mystified and cauterize the wound against your rage.
Smouldering and breathless now we sleep.