I had Captain Crunch
on the morning I died.
There was a bitter
almond aftertaste
that lingered
in the sweet milk residue.
Internalizing the fear –
the black shadow –
clutching at my throat
and scrambling for grey skies.
The air is airless –
counter-clockwise memory
on the inside
in the onslaught.
Contrary to popular belief
it does not cut
the roof of your mouth.
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