everything i breathe comes from this line of sight through the cracks of doors and slits of throats. she puts a sticker underneath his tongue. he pulls on his foot, draws his sock into his mouth. she rubs her breasts to loosen their grip from her muscle. i smoke fiendishly and point and click. he prepares a room for his unborn child. she has stopped complaining about the pain in her lower back. she takes pills because her heart is racing while sitting in the rain. days and days go by where i don’t shower: the clothes peel off of me. she takes a jump rope and whips it endlessly. he reaches for her hand to pull himself free of the floor. she waits for him while he calls another woman. she contemplates retirement because her daughter is moving away. her son lays listlessly with a joint in his hand. he leaves his father’s grave with tracks in the mud. and i understand none of it.