Sometimes when I go on runs
I have morbid epiphanies.
Bizarre images of death and
different ways to die will surface.
Initially, spirits would be ebullient;
Sort of on the merry side,
Ready for a challenge.
And then on subsequent rounds,
Say the second or third,
My lungs start to hyperventilate
Soon it felt like every breath of oxygen is a struggle,
Subtly squeezing my diaphragm.
Like a pernicious seed of inquity the
Searing pain would spread like wildfire
Affecting first the chest then the torso.
The world would come to a standstill.
Unknown whether if these are mere hallucinations,
These blankets of chills would engulf me,
Puncturing me with numbness and tingling sores.
The hypothalamus of my brain would revel
And lapse into a two-faced demon,
Willing me to stop but this
Internal struggle ensues,
Some intrinsic determination to battle the voice of temptation
Finally, I gave in to the monster and slowed,
Till the point of walking, swallowing huge pouches of air, desperately trying to force-feed my bronchioles with overwhelming O2.
And then akin to congenial twins, the limbs and heart will coordinate. With every throb, the vein-filled legs would comply and match in continuum.
